


The Only Thing I Lose

by princessrorora



Category: Anastasia - Flaherty/Ahrens/McNally
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-24
Updated: 2018-01-30
Packaged: 2019-01-03 20:25:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 102,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12154155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princessrorora/pseuds/princessrorora
Summary: Fate works in mysterious ways. Even by way of a backfiring truck to bring together an orphaned street sweeper and a deputy commissioner. Set a year before the musical/movie.





	1. Chapter One.

**Author's Note:**

> honestly ever since Noodles was cast in the role of Gleb with the description of 'having a strange connection' to Anya, I was sold in the shipping department. my younger Dmitry loving self is giving adult me the absolute side eye right now. 
> 
> while i find the musical brilliant and amazing, there are some little things I could see playing out differently. this is pretty much the musical, but also completely different. i worked in plenty of references to the original movie and the musical and my own little touches in hopes of making this something enjoyable. it's the first time in a long time where i'm really happy with what i've written. 
> 
> that being said, constructive criticism is always allowed, along with reviews! since this thing is set a year before the musical starts with the rumors about Anastasia, the timeline may get a little wonky. i will do my best to make everything clear and concise. reviews make me happy and kick me into gear to actually sit down and write the thing instead of making aesthetics for it. baha. 
> 
> enjoy!

Another day, another patrol. 

It was muscle memory by now to Gleb Vaganov. 

He awoke before the sun, cleaned and dressed himself and slipped into his pressed uniform. The dark olive green tone of it and the shining medals that adorned it gave him power, made him into a man that he hoped would have made his father proud. He filled out reports, wrote and proclaimed cunning speeches, and marched through his patrols with Russian pride he longed to see spread across his homeland. 

Soon, everyone _would_ see. A brighter future was coming. Things were already better, ever since the Tsars of St. Petersburg had been replaced by the people’s Leningrad. There was much to be thankful for. The unrest and terror of the streets was gone, and little by little, the people were picking themselves up with each passing day. 

He liked to think that he played a rather nice role in all of it. He had known since he was a child that this day would come where he would be the one in control, in power, be the one to usher in a newer and brighter future. 

Sometimes though, on cold days like today, his strength wavered. He was not blind to the plights of his people around him. On the contrary, his patrols placed him front and center of the problems that were left behind. If Gleb had it his way, Russia would be much different by now. This time of healing would not have lasted so long. But the damage had been done by that wretched family. He could take comfort in the fact that they were gone, had been gone for nearly nine years now. They would never to return, never to spread their poison ever again. He was part of a greater tomorrow to ensure that it would never be done again. They would rise from the ashes; become a new Russia, a better Russia, without the corruption of the Romanovs.

He knew the process would be slow, but still, he sometimes grew anxious when he saw how his fellow comrades were still suffering. 

To see so many still so hungry and cold reminded of nights from his childhood when the hunger was so strong, when he could do nothing but curl up into a ball at his mother’s side and long for the day when it all would be different. 

Gleb never went to bed hungry anymore, but his mother’s warmth was long gone, and he realized he would go hungry the rest of his days if it meant never being without her embrace and gentle voice. 

Would she be proud of him now? He liked to think that she would be. If she were still alive today, she would be able to see how things were already changing. She would be able to see that what his father had done had helped usher in everything that was, and was still to come. She never completely understood what his father had always stood for, what he drilled into Gleb from his childhood. But she had always stood by her husband, had always accepted what was to come, all for the sake of her family. 

He had fought in the trenches for her, had fought to make his father proud. He had watched fellow comrades fall all around him, had pulled the trigger on faces he couldn’t see through the rain and mud and smoke. He hadn’t slept for days, hardly eaten, all for the sake of returning home proud of himself for his contribution for a brighter Russia to come. 

He could remember the very last time he’d seen his father, the darkness in his eyes that hadn’t left him ever since that fateful night in Yekaterinburg. His father had known, even there in that crowded train station, what would become of him. Gleb hadn’t known, hadn’t had any clue at all. He had become so used to the shadows across his father’s face that he hadn’t even looked back before boarding a train to head off to the war. 

When he returned, his mother had fallen into his arms and wept from the relief of seeing him again, and from the devastation his father’s sudden death had brought. 

He died of shame from what he had done, his mother had said. She would have elaborated, had he not denied it, had he not sworn up and down that what his father had been a part of was for a brighter and better tomorrow. 

Sometimes he wished he would have let her elaborate. Not often, though. What his father did in that cellar with his fellow comrades that fateful night was a proud and vital task. Gleb knew it, though there were nights when he couldn’t sleep when the screams of the Romanov children entered his mind.

He’d become a man that night, listening to the shots, hearing their screams. 

Their deaths were necessary, though. He bore no sympathy for them. If the children had been spared and only their parents were killed, they would have risen up like weeds, would have perpetuated exactly what their parents had allowed. There would be no change without the spilling of all of the Romanov blood, and all their deaths were completely necessary. 

Gleb shook himself out of his thoughts as he turned a corner into the busting Nevsky Prospekt outside his office building. It filled him with pride to see hardworking Russians also doing their duty to enrich the homeland. Nothing pleased him more than seeing those especially who had seen the unrest and pain of the past now working just like he was to ensure a better tomorrow. 

It was another sort of muscle memory for his eyes to lift and closely inspect each person that passed by. He was constantly scanning the crowds on his patrols, but this particular part of Leningrad seemed to hold its fair share of bad apples. There were always thieves about when there were crowds, and more often than not, his daily patrols bore one too many chases or arrests. 

But, on a positive note, there were quite a few good apples as well. One in particular was a pretty little street sweeper he had seen on more than one occasion. She always kept to herself, and worked hard, never once looking up when a whisper of gossip was passed about like currency. It was encouraging to see a young woman making an honest living for herself, rather than shivering in dark corners and selling herself for a few coins to rub together. 

He always kept his eye out for her, some days seeing her and some days not. It made him crack a rare smile to see her, not only to see such a good Russian with excellent work ethic, but to see a beauty such as hers. 

He was well aware of the things his fellow comrades got up to with waifs such as herself. Gleb loathed it, loathed that there were fellow men in arms beside him that considered themselves higher, just because of their official positions. It pained him to see fellow comrades abusing their positions for their own personal gain. That’s not what they were supposed to be working towards. Everyone was equal, and officers were called to remind the people of that, not the exact opposite.

Those who didn’t think that way would be weeded out eventually, he knew. And soon, all that would be left would be those loyal to the cause, and loyal to bettering the motherland. Gleb’s eyes passed over the pretty little street sweeper once more, and he moved on, hoping that one of these days, he might be able to have the time to actually tell her how grateful he was to see her doing her part. 

Today was not that day. As he passed various street vendors, he heard hushed, gossiping whispers either cease, or turn into brightly shouted praises for their homeland. Exaggerated praises that even he could consider to be a little too much would send a ringing in his ears from how loudly they were said, and sometimes he wondered if perhaps he should tell them that doing such made him all the more suspicious.

Gleb was no fool. He knew the gossip and the bad mouthing that happened on the street. But his daily presence reminded them that they were not alone, that there were eyes and ears everywhere, always listening, always watching. It put them in line, straightened them up, and it was both the bad apples and the good apples like the pretty street sweeper that reminded him why he did this. 

For Russia. His beauty. 

What choice but simple duty?

\--

 

Another day, another street to sweep. 

She was thankful for the job, but Anya had hoped that after working it for nearly four months now, she might have adapted better. While yes, the constant motion of sweeping had become a sort of muscle memory for her, it still hadn’t gotten any easier. She still ached by the end of the day, and her palms still broke and blistered despite the gloves she wore. 

She had hoped for a job like one she had had before. Washing dishes, mending clothes, tending to those in the hospital. But with jobs being so hard to come by, Anya could not complain. A job was a job. Even if the wages weren’t enough to always ensure meals or a warm place to sleep. 

But, she was used to it. Having walked alone across Russia meant there were many positions Anya had been previously put into where she wasn’t always comfortable. She couldn’t count how many times she had slept in the woods, or an old barn or a cold alleyway. She couldn’t remember the last time she had had a full stomach, or been completely warm. 

Of course, Anya’s memory was nothing worth praising.

Nine years ago she had woken in a hospital, bruised and broken and alone. The nurses that hovered over her asked her countless questions, pressing her for information, but no answer would come. She couldn’t remember her own name, let alone who her family was, or where she had come from, or what had happened to her. There had simply been nothing. 

The nurses called it amnesia, said it could pass, that her memories might come back eventually. But there was no warmth or encouragement to their tones. They had said it all in cold tones as they begrudgingly tended to her. She had slipped in and out of consciousness after that, heard sharp, strange noises in her mind as she slept, felt the ghostly touches of figures that danced past her. 

It took her quite some time to heal from whatever ordeal had happened to her. During that time, she discovered a simple chain around her neck, with a broken flower pendant. It must have once held gemstones, but now it was empty. But as she turned it in her cold fingers, she discovered a promise etched into the back. Without realizing it then, the simple phrase, “Together in Paris”, gave her the will she had been lacking to live. Her memories might never come back, but perhaps there was someone in Paris who loved her who was waiting for her. 

The nurses hardly paid any mind to the bauble the few times her collar slipped to reveal it. Anya didn’t know why, but she felt as though it was a dangerous thing to be in possession of. That fear was only solidified when one of the nurses pressed two small diamonds into her palm that had been discovered in Anya’s tattered clothes. She made Anya swear she would never tell a soul about them, to wait until she found someone she absolutely trusted. Anya had been too terrified to ask why, to probe the woman for answers she might have been able to provide. She promised her, and was given a name that wasn’t hers in return. 

When she was able to walk on her own and her body didn’t hurt so much, the nurses said something about a woman from the orphanage coming to ‘deal’ with her. She had slipped away before that could happen, knowing that she would never get to Paris if she was shut up in an orphanage. Besides that, she was prepared to fend for herself rather than be ‘dealt with’. But that first night on her own, tucked against a tree in woods so terrible and dark, she had cried. Cried for the girl she had once been, the stranger who had awoken, and the aching loneliness that had overwhelmed her. 

Whenever she had finally fallen asleep, she dreamed. Dreamed of a beautiful place, a bridge, a warm voice. Paris, something deep inside her said. Even without ever seeing it, without ever knowing anything about it, she knew that’s what she dreamed about, and that her family was calling to her from there. 

So she did what she had to do. She survived, little by little each day, with the warm optimism that someone was in Paris. Someone loved her, and her home was out there. She let her dreams be her driving force, and over nine years, she worked her way across Russia. 

Until she landed in St. Petersburg, which had become Leningrad and it became a stopping place in her long walk.

Anya didn’t pretend to know anything about what had particularly gone on in the beautiful old city. While she had seen her fair share of unrest, had dealt with her own troubles over the long years, she had not seen firsthand any of what the people around her had suffered. In the eyes of so many around her in the beautiful old city was so much pain, and so many ghosts. 

Officers flooded the city, tall imposing figures with their steely eyes and lengthy speeches proclaimed from podiums in the squares. Leningrad seemed colder than anywhere she’d been, no matter the season, and Anya wasn’t so sure it was entirely the weather, or simply the bleak state of everything.

But Leningrad was not her home, and so, she kept up the hope that one day things would be different.

One day, she would be on that bridge in that beautiful city. One day, she would find her family and find where she belonged. Home was a heavy word; a word that didn’t belong to any of the places Anya’s feet had carried her. 

But home was all she longed for. And she knew it was in Paris. 

And somehow, someway, she would get there.


	2. Chapter Two.

There she was again. 

Gleb found his habit of spotting the little street sweeper in the crowd to be getting to him. He was beginning to distract himself from his duties by seeking her out in the crowd more and more. Usually it would only be a glance, just to admire her in her work. But much to his chagrin, he was now noticing her more and more, and allowing his gaze to hover over her longer than a few moments. 

It came as a shock to him, how a girl he’d never even spoken to could jumble him up like she was. What had started as a minor infatuation, an admiration for her work ethic and drive, had now turned into a strange need. He found himself idealizing just the sort of person she might be, wondering if she felt the same way he did about their homeland. 

Gleb yearned to speak to her more and more each day, but he feared the chance to speak to her would never come. Her work ethic is what had first caught his eye, so far be it from him to distract her from it just to simply say ‘hello’ to her. Of course, he could have simply approached her and applauded her on her hard work, but anytime he even came close to it, he’d clam up and flee in the opposite direction. 

What was the matter with him? Where was the Gleb Vaganov who feared nothing? 

Far, far away, he figured, as he stepped down from the podium. She caught his eye again, her golden locks braided away from her face, back bent as she pushed her broom across the square. A cold sweat formed on the back of his neck, and he attempted to appear intimidating to the crowd around him, despite the boyish shyness underneath the surface. It must have been working, for the people smiled and cowed away when he passed by, their hushed whispers suddenly turning to praises for beloved Russia. 

Even if he did gather the courage to approach her, what then? And how would she view him? His stomach soured at the thought of her being afraid of him simply because of his position. While yes, his position was one to be respected in a way, there was no difference between the two of them. They were both good and loyal Russians, each doing their part. 

But, perhaps she knew how his fellow comrades abused their position. Perhaps she would think he was only speaking to her for the prospect of a warm bed partner. His face flushed and his stomach ached at the idea. No, never, he wanted to say aloud, never, never. 

He suddenly felt foolish, considering such thoughts, and blinked from his thoughts. Gleb frowned once he realized he had lost sight of her. Without meaning to, he ground his jaw and turned away, grumbling under his breath as he headed back towards the podium in the middle of the square. He had retrieved his hat and was about to head to his office when a sudden truck backfiring startled him, followed by a terrified cry and the clanging of a broom falling to the cobblestone ground. 

Gleb spun around, finding the pretty street sweeper on her knees, hands clapped over her ears. She had been the one to cry out, he realized. Before he knew what he was doing, he rushed toward her with concern. She seemed to only be a little younger than him, but she would have remembered the civil unrest from days gone by. She was one of the many who were haunted by the ghosts of the past. 

“It was a truck backfiring, comrade, that’s all it was.” He crooned, one hand reaching for her broom. She looked up in surprise at his voice, and he was struck by how much prettier she was up close. He nearly lost his voice, but the terror on her face helped him continue on, the need to comfort her suddenly so strong. “Those days are over, neighbor against neighbor. There’s nothing to be afraid of.” He half laughed, hoping his voice sounded encouraging as he reached out to take her arm.

He helped her to her feet, but he didn’t let go once he realized she was shaking like a leaf. Gleb furrowed his eyebrows. “You’re shaking.” He said dumbly, looking down as her hands curled around her broom, cold fingers brushing his gloved pair as she attempted to take her broom back. “There’s a teashop just steps from here. Let me-”

“Thank you!” She exclaimed suddenly, her face still pale but her mouth set in a firm line. She tried to sidestep him, but he childishly held firm to her broom, a smirk playing at his lips. 

“What’s your hurry?” He asked, silently wondering what he was doing. He was never one to play games like this, especially with a young woman. Unlike quite a few of his fellow comrades, his first and only love was his beloved Russia. But, still. A strange playfulness came over him, an almost calming sensation that made him feel simply like a man, and not an officer. 

“I can’t lose this job; they’re not easy to come by.” She tugged her broom free from his grasp, appearing thankful when he let go. “But, thank you.” She didn’t scurry away like he thought she would, and after a moment he realized she was waiting to see if she was dismissed. 

Gleb nodded, and folded his hands behind his back. “Admirable.” He murmured, more to himself, but by her sudden smile, he realized she’d heard him. He nodded at her, and she nodded back, that hesitant smile still playing on her lips as she turned to go. 

“I…I’m here every day!” He offered sheepishly before she could walk away. She looked over her shoulder at him, the paleness in her face gone, and her cheeks coloring with warmth. 

“Yes, I’m certain I’ve seen you.” She said, eyes darting around and broom moving back and forth a few times, as though she was afraid her higher ups would come out of nowhere and scold her for delaying in her work. 

Of course, with him there, talking to her, he doubted anyone could argue with him about her. And he would be more than happy to stand up for her and vouch for the hard work he had observed her doing in the past days. 

Gleb smiled, despite himself, and the longer he stared at her pretty face, the more he realized just where he was. Only moments ago, he had been longing for a chance to speak to her, and now, fate had brought her to him. The realization washed over him warmly, and he suddenly felt almost flabbergasted as to what he should say next. He quietly thanked the backfiring truck, despite how it had caused such terror to come over her. 

“Are you sure you’re alright, comrade?” He asked kindly, inclining his head down toward her to study her face. 

“Yes.” She answered simply, her cheeks coloring in embarrassment. “I did not mean to react the way I did. It’s just…” 

“The ghosts of the past never really leave us, do they?” He hummed. 

At his simple question, the girl’s face suddenly shadowed, and she looked away from him to stare down at her broom. “Sometimes they do, and leave something far worse behind.”

He frowned at her cryptic statement. “What’s your name, comrade?”

Her face seemed to shadow even more, and Gleb suddenly was desperate to know the reason. Such a simple question should have held a simple answer. Not an expression like the weight of the world rested on her next words. 

“I don’t know.” She murmured, to which he could not help but chuckle in response. 

“You…you don’t know?” He held back his laughter at her embarrassed expression. “Forgive me, comrade, but how is that something you don’t know?”

“Well, I suppose what I should say is that I don’t know my true name.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I have no memory of my past, you see. The nurses at the hospital where I woke up said I had amnesia, gave me a name that’s not mine.” She chewed on her lower lip before sighing. “Anya, they said. A good, strong Russian name.”

Gleb absorbed this information as well as he could, his head tilting to the side as he took stock of the young woman before him. She was nothing like what he had thought she would be, and he ached to know more about her. She had clearly endured far more than what he had initially realized. He was suddenly struck by the sharpness of her cheekbones, the dark circles around her haunted eyes. This was the same pretty little street sweeper he had noticed on so many of his patrols, with her beauty and strength as she worked, as she quietly blended in and did her duty for her homeland. 

But this Anya, she was someone else entirely. She was someone he so desperately wanted to know. 

“I’m sorry; I don’t know why I’m telling you this.” She shook her head at herself, clutching her broom tightly as she attempted to turn away again. 

“Because I asked?” He shrugged. “And please, don’t apologize, comrade. It’s your history. To see you working your way up and being a citizen Russia would be proud of, despite what you’ve no doubt endured, is admirable.” He lingered over the last word, giving her a smile. Gleb felt his heart do a warm little tug when she smiled back at him. 

“Thank you, comrade.” She said softly.

He extended his hand out to her, and she stared down at it for a moment before looking up at him curiously. “I’m Deputy Commissioner Gleb Vaganov.”

Anya hesitated, staring down at his hand apprehensively as though it would devour her before slipping her gloved one into his. He squeezed it, taking stock of the small curve of her palm and fingers, stifling the urge to hold fast to her hand and instead releasing it after only a moment. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Commissioner.” Anya said warily, her eyes lingering over the medals on his chest for a long moment.

“Gleb, please.” He asked, folding his hands behind his back, fighting the urge to reach out and take her hand again. “It’s the uniform and title that can give the bad impression, I know. But my rank and position is hardly worth anything, really. I am just a citizen much like you who yearns to work towards a brighter and better Russia.” Gleb shrugged his shoulders. “I’m really not so bad.” He added gently.

“I can see that.” Anya laughed under her breath, her face glowing in the grey weather. “Gleb.” She tested the name on her tongue, glancing around herself anxiously, as though fearing someone had heard her address an officer in such a casual way. “It is wonderful to meet you, but I should get back to work. You must excuse me.”

“Of course, yes.” He nodded at her. “If you should need anything, comrade, a friend, I _am_ here every day.” 

“Thank you.” Anya smiled sweetly. “Until we meet again.” 

And just like that, she was gone. 

\--

The day was long and the sun was descending by the time Gleb was able to leave his office that evening. His duties that day had been strenuous, and he had lost track of the amount of tea he had drunk because of it. As distracted as he had been that morning by the little street sweeper, Anya, he hadn’t let it distract him from his duties for the rest of the day. 

Alright, well, if he was honest with himself, he found his mind wandering to her smile more than once during the day. 

And the ice had been officially broken. They were aquainted now. He had actually spoken to her! She said it was _wonderful_ to meet him. 

Gleb smiled to himself as he exited his building, turning in the direction of his home. He whistled lowly under his breath, hugging his coat tighter to himself as he walked. 

A movement across the street caught his attention, and he stopped dead in his tracks. 

“Anya?” He murmured aloud. Before he realized what he was doing, he made his way across the street to her. “You said we’d meet again, but I had no idea it would be so soon.” He said once he reached her, mentally applauding himself for his on the spot coyness. 

Anya jumped in surprise, but quickly responded. “I walk this way every evening, Commissioner.” She adjusted the thin scarf around her neck. “Perhaps you’ve just not been looking, comrade.” 

Gleb sputtered. His cheeks felt hot, but he stifled his embarrassment and smiled at her. “I don’t suppose you’d mind my walking with you? I’m going this way as well and could use the company.” 

She suddenly looked hesitant. Something in her eyes looked as though she knew better than to refuse an officer, and Gleb widened his eyes to see fear creeping its way across her face. “I…I suppose I can’t stop you.” She said quietly. 

“I can walk on the opposite side of the street, comrade.” He offered. “I would hate to make you uncomfortable.” 

Anya seemed startled by his statement, but the fear was disappearing from her face. Curiosity was quickly taking its place. She studied him, and he waited patiently under her appraisal. “You’re a funny sort of man. Certainly not what I expected an officer to be like.” 

Her voice had taken on a teasing tone, and he couldn’t help but be encouraged to play along. “Yes, I’m one of a kind.” Gleb said casually. “Not all officers are as handsome and charming as I am, that’s for certain.” 

She burst into a fit of giggles, one hand coming to rest against her lips as though she could contain or stifle the joyous sound. A swell of pride welled up in him, and he grinned boyishly at her. Usually his jokes fell on deaf ears. It felt nice for once to have someone find him funny. 

Especially the pretty little street sweeper. 

“Yes. I have seen some dreadfully ugly fellows in my time walking about.” She said lightly, and then looked up with a sudden terror in her eyes as she realized just who she had said such a thing to. “I mean-“

Gleb was quick to dispel the fear in her eyes but chuckling and nudging her lightly with his elbow. “You are quite right. Some of my fellow comrades certainly were not gifted in that area. I am thankful that most of them can do their job though, despite such a hindrance.”

Anya blushed and giggled quietly, giving him a thankful look. 

“So.” He started, hoping to keep the conversation between them going as they walked. “You say you walk this every night?” Anya nodded, and tucked her hands into her pockets. “But given that your street sweeping routes may take you all over, why come all the way back here?”

“The headquarters of my occupation are just that way.” She gestured behind them, smiling teasingly at his amused smile at her proper tone and words. “My shifts usually take me on different routes, but I always end up here to return my broom.”

He widened his eyes. “You must walk quite a bit.” 

Anya bore an expression that showed she’d never really considered that fact before. She tucked a straggly strand of hair behind her ear. “When you’ve walked across Russia, a walk back and forth St. Petersburg hardly seems like much of anything.”

“Leningrad.” He corrected gently. “And, forgive me for laughing, comrade, but did you just say you walked across Russia?”

She lifted her chin proudly and avoided his glance. “Yes. I’m sure you don’t believe me, but it’s the truth.” 

“What would possess you to do such a thing?” He asked with a chuckle. “And alone? It seems very unsafe for a girl of your age to-“

Anya stopped in her tracks. “You don’t know me.” She said quickly. “Life has put me through a great deal, and I found myself being drawn away from where I was and set off on my own course. Alone, yes, but I had very little choice in the matter.” 

Gleb’s heart sank, and he inwardly kicked himself for asking such stupid questions. Just that morning a simple truck backfiring had terrified her. He had seen it firsthand, had made the assumption that the unrest of the past had been the cause of it. But now, to make light of whatever situation had put her in this place, seemed utterly foolish of him. 

“Forgive me.” He pleaded. “You’re right, comrade. I have no idea what life has put you through.” 

Gleb bent his head toward her, satisfied when her face softened and they continued on their walk. They were quiet, and when they reached the bridge, she stopped again, going left where he was going right. Before she had a chance to bid him farewell, he held his hand out to her. 

“I applaud you, Anya, for the life you’re building for yourself now. You who have every excuse to do nothing, to allow the pain of the past to swallow you up, are instead choosing better.” He bit his lip before giving her a nod. “It’s admirable.” 

“Hardly.” She whispered to herself. “I’ve only done what I’ve been forced to do. One cannot just sit by and let hardships overwhelm us. We must keep going.” Anya smiled wanly and slipped her hand into his outstretched one. “One step at a time.” 

Gleb gave her hand a squeeze as he considered her words before nodding in agreement. “You’re quite right, and wise beyond your years.” 

Anya looked up at him, confusion and warmth in her eyes as she seemed to try and figure him out. Gleb felt anxiousness well up deep down in his stomach, and he quickly shook the feeling off. He dragged his thumb over the back of her hand before releasing her. 

“Until next time, Anya.” 

And with that, he turned and left her. 

 

\--

“I need a light.” 

Anya looked up in surprise at the harsh voice above her. Diana hovered over her, smelling like vodka and old perfume, rouge smeared across her lips and cheeks and shock of red curls tumbling over her shoulders. She was holding out a cigarette in one hand, and her other held a moth eaten wool coat around herself. 

Anya sighed, and closed the book in her lap to lift her dying candle. She couldn’t stand the stench of cigarette smoke, but when one shared space under a public bridge with a handful of strangers, one couldn’t be picky. If she refused to share her candle, there may come a time when her meager belongings would end up in the river, and she would not be welcomed there any longer. Which would then begin the hunt for another shelter. 

Which was something Anya really didn’t want to do. 

Diana stood by after her cigarette was lit, leaning against the stone wall. Anya glanced at the woman’s tattered skirts, her scuffed boots, and quietly wondered if she was warm enough. Not as though Anya had anything she could offer her, or even ask. Diana, or any of the other women who shared the space under the bridge with her, would lash out if Anya even suggested they couldn’t care for themselves. They were doing what they could to survive; Anya had been told that countless times. They had all been on their own since the unrest, had all been scraping by without the help of others. Any sort of compassion or worry from Anya might even be enough for her to be shooed away. 

Still, it was hard not to worry for them. Anya had been put in some terrible positions during her nine years alone, but she never felt so pushed to the brink of darkness as to give in to their profession, if one could even call it that. 

Sometimes the women would return freshly bathed, warm and full and carrying pockets full of money. They would sing and laugh, but Anya could see the bruises and the pain in their eyes, the abuse they endured just for a warm place to sleep, even for just a short period of time. 

Anya tried to return to her book, tucking her coat around herself and curling her knees to her chest. Vera, another one of the women, had brought Anya this book a few days ago, before she’d gone back to the officer who gave her sweets and lace dresses. It was French, and somehow, though she didn’t know how exactly, Anya could understand it.   
It took some time getting used to, but eventually, she was able to weave pictures in her mind of that far off place, and imagine beautiful people and hear their voices as the story progressed.  
Soon enough, she would be there, she knew she would. 

“With all your sleep talking about Paris, I knew you’d get a kick out of this, comrade.” Vera had laughed, almost in a taunting, teasing way. “You’ll have to give it back in a few days so I can take it back before my sweet officer knows it’s gone. Don’t smudge any soot from your broom onto those pages, you hear?”

Anya had been grateful and held her tongue from retorting back with any sort of saucy comment of her own. She certainly wasn’t going to lash out at the one person who entertained her dreams, even if the person in question was brash and taunting. She had stumbled upon her ability to read and write by accident, and it had come as a relief to her when she could understand a newspaper somewhere along her long walk. She had found herself hiding in warm libraries from time to time, digging into books until she was shooed away. But her love of books and fairytales and adventures was not big enough to spend her small wages on. 

“You really ought to sell those before Vera gets back. I’m sure they’re worth a pretty penny.” Diana suddenly said, and Anya looked up as the older girl knelt beside her, eyeing the book with interest. “Her officer won’t miss them. In fact, I’m sure he’ll never know this one is missing. I’m sure he’s got loads more. Officers have private libraries, you know.”

“That’s still wrong.” Anya murmured, looking back at her book. “And besides, he _would_ notice eventually, and if the books she brings were missing for too long, she would get in serious trouble. And we both know how horrible that would be.” 

Though Anya wondered if Vera’s officer was a kind as the officer she had met that day was. Not that Anya would ever keep something that wasn’t hers or sell it for her own gain, but a strange little feeling deep down made her question if the stone faced officers she saw daily actually held compassion and kindness deep down. Gleb certainly was a surprise. More than once, it was _his_ voice that boomed out long lengthy speeches, it was _his_ hands she had seen hauling off thieves. But he had been so kind to her, had spoken so gently. It was strange to view an officer in such a good light, but she couldn’t help it. 

“I guess you’re right. And besides, the minute the book went missing, Vera would rat you out without a moment’s hesitation.” Diana laughed, despite the grim expression on Anya’s face. “And you, little Anya, would hate to be connected with the theft of an officer. They’d make an example out of you both.” 

Anya shivered, though not from the chill, but from Diana’s harsh tone. “I know.” 

“Just watch yourself, comrade.” Diana drawled. “You’re certainly the picture of a good and loyal Russian, they like that.” She smirked, her eyes glossy as she shot Anya a look. “The eyes and ears all around us, the ones always watching! We are never alone, little Anya, and you know it. Don’t give me those doe eyes.” She coughed out a laugh. “Not to fret, you’re such a good little Russian, always doing your work and never causing the motherland any problems!”

Anya swallowed hard, uncomfortable by Diana’s babbling. As drunk as Anya knew she was, Diana did speak with some clarity. Anya blended in, she worked, she was never dishonest, and she never snuck around. She abided by the rules, kept her head down and her mouth closed. 

But still. 

“I’ll leave you to your daydreams, little Anya. You have your fun dreaming of Paris and bonbons and freedom and handsome princes. I’m going to go find my own prince for the night, out in the real world.” Diana tossed her cigarette into the river, and sent Anya a grin. “You’re always welcome to join me, comrade. Pretty face like yours, I’m sure we could find you a handsome prince!”

Anya bristled, her cheeks growing hot from the thought. For some strange reason, the face of the young officer she had met that day appeared in her mind for the second time that night. She shook her head, though the thoughts did not disappear with the action. “No, thank you.” She murmured, and then gently added, “Be careful, will you?”

“Don’t worry about me, little Anya. I’ve been taking care of myself longer than you’ve been alive.” With a wave of her fingers, Diana sauntered away and disappeared around the edge of the bridge. 

Anya shuddered to think about what her acquaintance might get up to that night. But, she didn’t let herself worry too much. Before long, she was enraptured with just the thought of the places in the book she had been reading, and of her dreams, of Paris. 

And, much to her surprise, the kind officer who had rushed to her side when that truck had backfired. 

Anya knew she had seen him more than once before today. Even though she kept to her work and rarely looked up, she made sure she could pick out the officers in the crowd. Each man had their own distinguishable features and qualities, and if she was truly honest with herself, she had noticed Gleb Vaganov more than the others. 

And it wasn’t because he was handsome. No. Of course, he was handsome, but there was something else about him that made him stand out from the others. His voice seemed so steady, so determined and passionate. She actually listened to his speeches, had stopped once or twice on her route to actually listen. Whether or not she believed any of them was another thing entirely, but he made her _want_ to believe that there was a brighter future ahead for Leningrad. 

Anya wasn’t so sure. She spent every day and night on the streets of Leningrad, and it seemed as though there was no end in sight to the poverty and darkness that clouded the streets. Life had its gleams of sunshine for the people, she could see that. But the past really did follow you wherever you went, and she was certain it did more so for those who had seen it all firsthand.

Of course, Anya _might_ have seen it all firsthand. She had woken up very far from Leningrad, but who was to say she hadn’t been there before? There were little familiarities about the old city, but nothing she could connect. 

Anya’s mind wandered back to Gleb Vaganov, and she wondered how a man who was so firmly grounded in his duties and lengthy speeches could have such a warm, almost awkward side to him as well. The Gleb who had bent and helped her up and spoken to her that day and walked with her didn’t connect with the same man who stood at the podium or stalked the streets like a predator seeking its prey. 

The candlelight was nearly gone, and the sky was growing darker. Anya gently closed the book and tucked it at her side as she lay down on her mat, the thin blanket she held hardly doing much to keep out the wind. But her dreams, the promise of Paris someday, they warmed her from the inside out. She ducked her chin down into her coat as she slowly let her eyes fall shut. 

Tomorrow would be another cold, Russian day. She prayed for it, for a good day’s work, and that it would bring her one step closer to her fulfilling her dreams. 

And if she prayed she might run into Gleb Vaganov again, well, that was her own little secret.


	3. Chapter Three.

They were back. 

Anya should have expected it by now. Every night they came, reaching for her, begging for her to remember, begging for her to see them. A handsome man would kiss her forehead, a beautiful woman would touch her hair, three girls would solemnly smile, and a little boy would lean over her and laugh. 

They wanted her to remember. They wanted her to remember the girl she once was. They wanted her to remember _them._

They begged for her to see them, to remember who they were and who she was, until she woke with a cry, their faces and their voices fading away before she could even attempt to remember. 

“Anya!” Vera exclaimed, amidst the groans of the other women. “Shut your mouth!” 

Anya bolted upright, the darkness of the bridge and the dim streetlamps from above swimming into her vision. It was early, much too early to be awake, but there was no going back to sleep after that. 

She was shaking, from the cold, from the ghostly visions, but it was second nature to her now. Muscle memory. She curled in on herself, her teeth chattering and her stomach aching with hunger as clarity swam through her mind. Anya could still feel their ghostly hands, could hear their voices mingling, adding to her distress. It was all second nature by now, and she forced herself to breathe evenly. 

Anya would not cry. She had seen their faces almost every night for the past nine years, had awoken trembling and fearful every time. Sometimes with a cry, like tonight, but sometimes with no sound at all. But there was always this ache left behind. An ache to be held, an ache to know, an ache to eat. 

She lay there for a long time, her thin mat doing hardly anything to keep out the chill of the stone below. The darkness was too much, and after a long while of shivering, she forced herself to sit up. Her body ached, but it was nothing new. She quietly folded her blanket and mat and set them aside. The book Vera had loaned her was still pressed against her chest within her coat, and Anya left it there, thinking that perhaps she might spare a few coins to sit somewhere warm that morning and read before her shift. Just a bite of bread would help, just a bit of warmth. 

Anya slipped out from under the bridge, shivering as a full blast of early morning air hit her face. Beneath the bridge it was always cold, given the breeze that blew off the canal, but it was a shelter from the cruelty of the open air. Anya tucked her scarf up around her face, longing for the hat she once wore so long ago, the hat the nurses had given her. 

Still, Anya knows if she hadn’t sold it, she would have died. The money she’d gotten from that hat had been enough to buy her a cup of coffee and a warm meal, and it had invigorated her to keep moving. 

Shaking the thoughts away, she started walking towards the Nevsky Prospekt. Only a few other people milled about, those without a home like herself, and those who's jobs started much sooner than her own. They were all just trying to survive. Hardly any of them even spared the other a sideways glance. Still, she kept her eyes open and alert to anyone who might approach her with the wrong intentions. It had happened before, and she’d been forced one too many times to use what little strength she had to fight back. 

Anya yawned. It was too early to go pick up her broom. It was too early for anything. But going back to sleep hadn’t been an option. The Nevsky Prospekt was long and she contented herself with walking back and forth to keep warm until it was time to retrieve her broom. 

It was much too early for a run in with that officer, she knew, but in the wake of her nightmare, a warm conversation would have done her some good. 

Despite the grey skies above, she could see the sun was slowly creeping up. It would still be quite a while until she was needed, but at least the sun rising meant the vendors and shops would be opening soon. She was doing so good at saving her money, but if she didn't have a full warm meal soon, she wasn't sure just how long she could make it with the weather this cold. Anya looked up at the grand buildings towering above her, her heart skipping a beat as she spotted the Singer House. 

She started walking towards it, eyeing the tall pillars and architecture in the street lamp’s glow with interest. She knew it housed a great deal of books, though she knew she’d never be admitted. And even if she could, she’d never have enough money to purchase anything. 

But oh, it would be warm inside, and the smell of books…

Anya blushed to herself, and turned to walk away. Her eyes caught sight of the grand fountain outside of the building, and she began to walk towards it. It hadn’t been turned on since summer, but it was still beautiful to look at. She slowly sat down on its edge.

The cathedral across from the Singer House had been long since closed, but Anya could somehow hear the tolling of bells in the back of her mind. She passed a large amount of time by staring at the grand building, distracting herself from the cold by humming under her breath. She wondered if the cathedral had been opened if she would be admitted, just to sit within it's warmth, to stare at it's vast ceilings. She could only imagine how beautiful the inside was, seeing as she could have sat there all day just admiring it's outside. With a shiver, she realized just how exhausting it would be to just sit there and let the cold consume her, just to stare at an old building. As aching as the job was, Anya was anxious to start her street sweeping shift, if only for the warmth the motions of sweeping gave her body. 

“Comrade.” A voice above her suddenly hummed, breaking the silence. Anya looked up as a man passed her by, and she blanched in realization as she recognized the young officer from the day before. 

“Gleb?” She questioned, tucking her scarf down from around her face to around her neck. The cold air hit her face instantly, but she didn’t mind it. 

He paused, his hands curling into fists behind his back. Anya felt her stomach drop. Perhaps she had been mistaken. Perhaps he was another officer, and had now heard her address the deputy commissioner so simply. Or perhaps, given the scarf that had been around her face, he hadn’t recognized her, and was upset to be addressed by name so early. Her heart stuttered, and she almost wished he wouldn’t turn around. But he did, and Gleb’s stern expression turned soft upon realizing it was her. 

“Oh, it’s you!” He said warmly, his shoulders relaxing as he stepped toward her. 

“It’s me.” She chuckled, albeit awkwardly. 

“You’re up and about quite early.” He pointed out, brow furrowing together. “Early shift?”

Anya blushed. “No. Just a poor night of sleep.” She shrugged her shoulders and didn’t elaborate.

Gleb’s face turned apologetic. “I am sorry for that, my friend.” He straightened his shoulders, and Anya realized he was masking a shiver. How he could be cold beneath his uniform and a heavy overcoat was beyond her, but she didn’t say anything. “I’m just headed to my office.” He said with a nod. 

“Of course you are.” Anya nodded. “I’m sorry for stopping you. I just…recognized you and thought I’d say hello.” 

“I believe I’m the one who addressed you first. Though I had no idea it was you. How glad I am to see that it is you, Anya.” He stammered. Anya giggled softly, and the corner of Gleb’s lips quirked up into a slight smile. “But I’m glad you did stop me, so there’s no need for an apology.” He swallowed and glanced down the street before looking back at her. “Perhaps you’d like to join me for some tea?” 

Anya blushed. She would like that a great deal, but she still found herself shaking her head ‘no’. “I wouldn’t want your fellow comrades to think anything.” She said quietly. “But thank you.” 

Gleb frowned. “You needn’t worry about that, Anya. The only ones there this early today is the secretaries. And me.” 

Anya felt her heart skip a beat as she looked down at her shoes. She was reminded of his kindness from the day before, but Diana's words from the previous night about all men being the same echoed in her mind. She knew deep down that Diana was wrong, but she was still fearful. Even if Vera's officer was kind to her, he was still an officer who sought out a warm bed partner. Who was to say Gleb wasn't one of those men? An officer being so kind to a shadow like her seemed laughable. Blushing, she choked out, “I am not…one of those girls, Gleb.” She continued to stare down at her shoes, refusing to look up into his eyes. As embarrassing as it was to say, she decided she’d much rather be up front and embarrass herself than beat around the bush only to discover his true intent too late. “I appreciate the offer, but-“

“Anya…” Gleb said warmly, halting her babble. “I never thought you were.” He held his hand out to her, but didn’t touch her. “I’m asking you as your friend if you would like to have something warm before you start your day of work. That’s all. No strings attached, no ulterior motives.” 

Anya blinked up at him. “You’re really not…proposing anything?” 

Gleb chuckled, and shook his head. “No, Anya.” He appeared as though he wanted to say more, probably tease her for jumping to such conclusions. But his face shadowed seriously, and his lips formed a thin line. “I know what my fellow comrades may get up to, but I can assure you I am not one of them. I promise you, Anya, you’re safe with me. And from me.” 

Her cheeks grew warm, and she absentmindedly adjusted her scarf, just needing to do something with her hands. If he caught sight of her necklace, he didn’t comment, just continued to stare intently at her. 

“Okay.” She said quietly. “Perhaps some tea would be nice.” 

“Good.” He nodded. “Follow me. My building is not far from here. And it’s heated, so we shall have a chance to unfreeze our numb toes, hm?”

Anya chuckled softly, and nodded at him. She went to follow him, but he suddenly was unbuttoning his coat and draping it around her shoulders. Anya jolted back, looking up at him with wide eyes. “No, no, you don’t need to-“

“Please, Anya. You’re shaking, and though we are close to my office, I do not wish to prolong it.” He tucked it under her chin, and she had no choice but to reach up and hold it in place. 

“Are you sure? Won’t you be cold?”

Gleb smiled ruefully. “I’ve endured much worse. Besides, my uniform is plenty warm.” He nodded at her, and then outstretched his arm for her to join him in walking. They were both quiet as they walked, the early hour and chill not enough encouragement to strike up a full fledged conversation just yet.

Anya was thankful for the coat. It was heavy and sturdy and still pleasantly warmed from his body heat. If she had something as nice as this to keep her warm at night, she wouldn't be so fearful about making it through the night. She hugged it closer to herself, and inconspicuously took a deep breath of the thick fabric. A blush crept over her face as she caught a whiff of his musk. 

When they reached his building, she quickly pulled the coat off of her shoulders and handed it over to him the moment they stepped inside. He gave her a sideways look, ready to insist she keep it, but took it in what she could see was reluctance. 

But he was right, the building was _so_ warm, and she had no need of his coat any longer. 

She followed him up a flight of stairs and through the dark halls, their footsteps echoing around the emptiness. He was right, no one was there that early, until they turned a corner and spotted a small group of ladies chatting over teacups and stacks of papers. As she and Gleb passed, they nodded at him and looked curiously at her. Anya suddenly realized she probably looked a mess, with her tangled hair and threadbare clothes. They eyed her up and down, but Anya saw no judgment in their gazes. If anything, it seemed as though the ladies were logging her appearance away, for analytical reasons, if not gossiping. 

Gleb led her to a large room filled with desks. Tall windows were all along one side of the room, while the other was nearly floor to ceiling file drawers. Anya glanced around her surroundings curiously, wiggling her fingers as they thawed. 

“Soon enough I shall have my own office.” Gleb hummed, breaking the silence as he led her to a desk near a window looking out onto the Nevsky Prospekt. “Apparently it’s being refurbished, though I was told that nearly three months ago when I received my promotion and yet…” He gestured toward his simple desk. “Here we are.” He chuckled. 

Anya smiled at him, and as he set his coat and hat over the back of his chair, she wandered to the window. The view was nothing much to look at, given she could only see straight out to the building across from them, but it was still nice to look about from this height. 

“I’ll be right back, my friend. Just a moment.” Anya looked over her shoulder at him, and he gave her a nod and gestured to his desk, if she wanted to sit down. 

Anya nearly asked if she could go with him, unsure of what she would do if another officer came in for an early morning of work. No doubt she would be thrown in a jail cell for intruding. She was nothing, a shadow, and that was certainly what those ladies had been thinking when they saw her, no matter how analytical their gazes had been. 

She tore herself away from the window and sank into the chair across from his desk. Her stomach knotted the longer he was gone, but she was warm, much warmer than she’d been in a long time. While she waited for him, she took the time to run her fingers through her hair, carefully undoing it and braiding it again. The strawberry blonde locks needed a good wash, but with the weather so cold, she doubted it would happen anytime soon. 

Maybe she could rent a room for a night. Just for the sake of using a tub and warm water. She would wash herself, then wash her clothes, and then sleep in a clean bed. The thought seemed so simple, but oh so luxurious. 

Footsteps suddenly appeared behind her, and she sat up straighter, spinning around in her seat. Gleb sauntered forward, carrying a tray in his hands. He must have seen fear in her eyes, because he gave her an easy smile and said, “It’s only me, Anya. I come bearing gifts.” 

Anya blushed in embarrassment and watched as he set the tray on the desk. He had brought a full pot of tea and even a plate of biscuits. Her mouth watered at the sight, and she was certain she could have devoured the entire plate. He had to have known that. Anya looked up at him warily, wondering if he was making fun of her, if he would spin this all around and make her look like the starving waif she was. 

But instead, he just smiled and began to pour them tea. “Enjoy.” He said, scooting a teacup over to her. “I picked the mint this morning, so it should be fresh.” 

“You picked it?” Anya asked curiously, lifting the cup and taking a slow sip. It was deliciously warm, and she sighed happily as it warmed her from the inside out. 

“Yes.” He looked away as she looked up at him. “I have a small garden, you see. But with winter being as it is, it’s nothing to really boast about. But mint is a rather feisty little plant. More weed than anything, I suppose.” He chuckled to himself. 

“What else do you grow?” She asked as he gestured to the biscuits. Anya took one, and she almost sobbed at the sight of fresh butter and honey that he nudged in her direction as well. 

“Well, if the weather holds up, I try to grow whatever I can. Tomatoes, lettuce, pumpkins, cucumbers. Anything, really.” He shrugged. 

“You must have a knack for it, when the weather holds up.” She said teasingly. 

“Quite right.” He smiled at her. 

They sat quietly for a moment, each eating biscuits and sipping tea. Anya settled with eating two, though she knew she could eat all of them and not even bat an eyelash. But she didn’t want to look a fool. She had manners, after all. 

“You say you had a poor night of sleep?” Gleb asked, pouring her another cup of tea. 

Anya looked down at her cup, avoiding his gaze. “Yes.” 

“I can understand the not wanting to go back to sleep, but to go out into the cold?” He hummed. “Wouldn’t it have been better to stay in your home?”

Anya nearly laughed. “Where I am currently staying is hardly ‘home’.” She said simply. “But the other women I share the space with were not happy with me when I woke them up. So I just…left, so they could get some rest.” 

“You woke them up?” Gleb inquired. 

“I had a nightmare.” Anya nodded, blushing as she realized it was twice now in his presence that she’d admitted what was probably a little too much too soon. “It’s nothing.”

Gleb studied her sympathetically. “At least it was only a nightmare, and not anything real.” He said, in a tone she knew was meant to be encouraging. 

Despite her nod, Anya still felt like her nightmares were real. But she didn’t admit that to him. It wouldn’t do any good for him to pity her more than he no doubt already did. 

"I too suffer from nightmares." He admitted. 

"What about?" She asked. "You don't have to tell me, of course. I'm sorry, that's personal."

"You must stop apologizing around me, my friend." Gleb said, leaning forward to stare intently into her eyes. "Please, Anya. Speak plainly. We are friends." He took a sip of his tea. "My nightmares are of days gone past. I dream of the battles I've seen, the comrades I've lost, the scenes from the past." He shook his head. "It would no doubt upset you for me to go into much detail. My nightmares are of visions of the past. A past I am striving every day to keep in the past." 

Anya studied him carefully, heart hammering in her chest from the vulnerability in his voice. "Oh." She said simply, staring down into her cup. "The ghosts of the past." 

"Yes." He murmured. "Yesterday you said they don't always leave, that they sometimes leave something worse behind than bad memories. What did you mean by that?"

Anya's stomach churned, and she forced herself to look up at him and keep her voice steady as she said, "The ghosts of my past are what I dream about at night. But I don't know who they are, or who I even am. I wish the ghosts of the past would just leave me, but it seems as though they are going to be with me forever." _Until I remember_ , she thought to herself. 

He didn't seem to know what to say to that, though she could see that he was struggling to find some sort of comforting words. It warmed her heart to know that he was at least trying to make sense of her. She smiled warmly at him, and then looked up at the clock behind him. 

“I should go.” She took another sip of the tea and then set her cup down as she stood. “Thank you, Gleb.” 

Gleb stood up, and folded his hands behind his back. “Of course, Anya. My door is always open to you.” 

Anya chewed on her lower lip, looking up at him in confusion. “I don’t know what to make of you.” She said quietly. “You are too kind to someone like me.” 

“Someone like you?” Gleb shook his head. “Anya, I told you yesterday that we are equal. And I truly mean that. I do not think lesser of you by any means.” He stepped around his desk to stand closer to her. “I just wish to share my friendship with you.” 

“That’s it?” Anya asked in disbelief. 

“That’s it.” He chuckled. “If you feel my friendship may be a nuisance to you-“

“No, no.” Anya said quickly. “I just…I don’t mean to keep questioning you. I suppose it’s been a while since I’ve had a friend.” She blushed. “Truthfully, I don’t know if I ever have had a friend.” 

“Then allow me.” He pressed one hand over his heart and nodded at her. 

Anya looked up at him, at the kindness radiating out of his usually stone cold dark eyes, and nodded in agreement. “Thank you, Gleb.” She murmured. 

Gleb just smiled at her and nodded. He led her out of the building, past the secretaries and their questioning gazes, and outside. “Perhaps I’ll see you later on.” He offered as she paused to adjust her scarf. 

Anya nodded, and smiled at him. “I walk here every evening at five.” 

“Then I shall open my eyes and look out for you then. That is, if you don’t mind my walking with you again?”

Anya thought back to when she’d awoken from her nightmare, how terrified she had been, how she had longed for a warm conversation and human contact and how she had gotten exactly that. Gleb Vaganov was a mystery, but perhaps he only was to her because she’d never known what having a true friend was like. 

“I’d like that, Gleb.” She smiled. “Perhaps you could meet me at the fountain you found me at this morning.” 

“I’ll do that.” He nodded reassuringly at her. “I hope you have a wonderful day, comrade.” 

For some reason, neither seemed ready to part, despite the promise of a walk together that evening. Despite his mysteriousness, his kindness overruled it entirely, and she longed to simply be in his presence. She had been so alone for so long, the receiving end to so many cruel words, and yet, this officer had extended an olive branch of sorts, amidst the shadows that clung to her. 

Anya gave him a nod, and turned away reluctantly, silently counting down the hours in her head until she could see him again. 

\--

She was sweeping when he was out on his patrols. Her brow was furrowed as she worked, her gaze downward and her back bent, but there was a strength to her movements that he’d not seen before. 

Perhaps the breakfast they’d shared that morning had invigorated her. He almost didn’t want to know how often she got a meal, being too afraid to know the answer. 

He cursed his dead garden, and the weather. Had it been warmer, he might have been able to offer her something from that. He didn’t want to overstep any boundaries by offering for her to have breakfast with him every day, and besides that, he was certain there would be more than one who would gossip about it. While it didn’t bother him much, given that no one would ever say it to his face, he knew she would be uncomfortable by it. 

She’d hardly wanted to join him this morning, despite the early hour and empty office. She even thought he was propositioning something indecent to her. He wondered if the women she mentioned living with put ideas into her head about what an officer is supposed to be like. He wanted to know more about where she stayed, who she lived with, just to ensure her safety, but he knew that would definitely be overstepping. 

He could still clearly see her anxious expression when they’d passed the early morning secretaries. Gleb did not want to put her in an uncomfortable position. He had to remember that she clearly had endured much, had been alone for too long, and would need extra care and warmth. 

He would gladly give it. While they hardly knew each other, he longed to protect her from the world. 

Gleb was many things, indeed a spy as well, but he found himself longing to be extra cautious and gentle with her. He was considering walking alongside her as she worked, but just as he thought how he didn’t want to crowd her, or distract her from her work, a mocking voice rang out.

“Hail our brave new land!”

Gleb turned slowly, spotting a lanky young man he’d seen at one too many times during his speeches. He was one of the riff raff who always had a smart mouth, one of the scrawny Russians who refused to work, or be a part of the new order. Soon enough, they’d all be gone, or so he hoped. There was no need for conflict anymore, with the new order set in motion. Anyone who fought against it would either need to learn a lesson, or disappear. The boy was harmless enough, but his words were boisterous and loudly spoken, his grin too easy and charming. He would bring too many good and loyal Russians down if he was allowed to keep it up.

Gleb could have had him escorted away right then and there. It would be so easy. No doubt there were outstanding charges on the boy's record. He would be taken away in an instant. But, Gleb wanted to give him a chance, for some odd reason. It wasn't as if he _liked_ carting off riff raff. If he had it his way, everyone would see that the future could be brighter if they all worked together. 

Pulling what he hoped was an intimidating scowl, Gleb marched towards the little group. They instantly broke apart, and the young man ran into the crowd. Gleb watched him go, stalking toward him to ensure that he would really leave, and quit his spreading of mocking words to the homeland for at least today.

Gleb was about to turn away and continue down the Nevsky Prospekt when he heard a cry and a tumble. His heart sank as he realized the rebel had run into Anya, knocking her and her broom to the ground. He moved quickly towards them, watching as the young man glanced briefly at Anya before jumping up and running away. 

“Are you alright?” He asked quickly, kneeling before her and taking hold of her shoulders to help her up. 

"I'm fine." She said shortly, smiling thinly up at him. He dropped his hands, and she went about to brush her clothes off. Something on the ground suddenly caught her eye, and before he could blink, she was gasping and kneeling down to scoop it up. He looked over her shoulder, surprised to see her holding a book in her hands. Anya's gloved hands were frantically rubbing at the fine leather cover of it. He was startled to hear a French curse escape her lips. Before he could even ask her how she knew French, she was grumbling again and bent to grab her broom.

“If you don't go after him now, you'll lose him.” She said quietly, still looking down at her book. 

“Oh, another day, I’m sure.” He said. “I’m more concerned about you, my friend. Are you sure you’re alright?”

“I told you, I’m fine.” She snapped, gritting her teeth as she rubbed her sleeve against the book. She flinched, and looked up at him, as though realizing her irritation should not have been directed at him. “I’m sorry.” She said quietly. “Just. A friend loaned this to me and now…” Worry creased her delicate features. “Now I don’t know if I can get the scuffs out of it.” She cursed again under her breath, shooting a glare in the direction the boy had run. 

“Let me take a look.” He reached for it, and a sudden flash of terror crossed her face before she held it to her chest. 

“N-no!” She said shakily. “It’s fine, it’s fine. I’m sure she won’t…mind.” Anya stuttered, hugging it tightly. “It’s fine, Gleb, really. Don’t worry. She won’t be upset.” 

Gleb frowned. “You seem awfully upset yourself, Anya. Let me help.” 

“Y-you can’t.” She shook her head. “I mean, you don’t have to. It’s really not worth worrying about. I think I’m just…too irritated about that boy.” 

Gleb studied her carefully. She was showing signs of a lie, with her darting eyes and anxious shaking. “Anya…” He said slowly. “You can trust me.” 

“That's not it. I _know_ I can…I just…” She shook her head. “It’s so stupid.” She glanced around them, and then walked to a less busy spot. “I wasn’t even supposed to have this with me today. But I was just so tired this morning, I didn’t even realize it was in my coat. I’ve kept it safe all day and now…” She groaned. “That stupid boy!” 

“Calm down, Anya.” He said gently, reaching for the book again. She reluctantly offered it up, though her gloved hands hovered over it as he inspected it. The front of the book was unscathed, but the back of it had clearly been scuffed when it landed on the ground. “The book itself is in tact. It’s just a scuff.” 

Anya seemed more panicked than she had before. “She’ll be so mad.” She whispered. 

Gleb eyed her warily, and reached out to gently curl his hand around her arm. “Anya…” He said quietly. “Did this book belong to your friend?” 

Anya’s face grew pale, answering his question before she could find her voice. “N-no.” She stuttered. “She was borrowing it, and then loaned it to me. Oh, she made me promise not to ruin it.” Anya looked away from him, clearly playing out a previous conversation. 

Gleb nodded at her, and carefully opened the book to the front page. His lips thinned as he inspected the signature on the inside. It was the name of a fellow comrade, one he saw on a regular basis. “Your friend is…?”

“Her profession is…well…one I would rather not say aloud.” Her cheeks colored as she looked down shamefully. “She told me to be so careful…”

“Anya…this is hardly your fault.” He couldn’t help but chuckle in hopes of lifting her spirits. “I know the man. I will replace the book.” 

Anya’s eyes grew wide as saucers. “You can’t do that. It must be worth so much.” 

Gleb shrugged. “I would rather replace it and have you and your friend stay out of trouble.” 

Anya shook her head. “She’s not really my…she’s just one of the girls I stay with…she…I think she was making fun of me, offering me that book. She knows I love stories, but that I couldn’t ever afford a book like that.” Her voice dropped. “She’s always trying to get me to join her. Perhaps she thought this would be a way to coerce me.” 

Gleb’s heart sank, but it quickly lifted when he saw the disgust on her face. It was as though she could picture herself in that position, and she loathed what she saw. He gave her arm a squeeze, and she reluctantly looked up at him. “I insist, Anya. Let me help.” 

“You’ve already done so much in the short time I’ve known you.” Anya murmured. “How can I ever repay you?”

“That’s the thing.” He chuckled. “I’m not doing this and seeking any sort of repayment. I’m doing this because you’re my friend, Anya.” His lips formed a thin line. “I take it my fellow comrade does not know the book is gone?”

Anya looked near tears. “No. Well, I don’t actually know.” She shook her head. “Diana said officers all have private libraries, that he wouldn’t even know it was missing. But Vera didn’t say that. I don’t know, I don’t know.” 

Gleb ached to see her so upset. Even though he knew he should report this, at least report the woman who slipped it away, he did not want to see Anya get in trouble. It was a minor infraction, one that didn’t deserve the punishment. Her friend might have been playing a game, might have thought something like this would happen and Anya would take the fall for it. And from the sound of it, they didn’t sound like they were actually her friends. _He_ was her friend, and he was not going to let anything happen to her. Especially not for something so small like this. 

“I have this book in my collection, actually.” Gleb said casually, smiling when her wide eyes lifted to look up at him in astonishment. “While I may not have my own private library, I do have a small collection.” He chuckled. “I can’t stand the sight of French, it’s far too bourgeois for me, so I won’t miss it.” 

“But his name on the inside…” She started. 

“I’ll tell him I borrowed it, that I ruined it, and that I am replacing it.” He said simply. “Please, Anya. Do not fret about it. Allow me to do this.” 

Anya’s lip quivered, and she looked at the book in his hands. “Are you sure?”

“Positive.” He nodded at her, and tucked the book in his coat pocket. “Would you rather I slip it into his collection myself or should I give it to you to give to your friend?”

Anya chewed on her lower lip, staring up at him reverently for a long moment before shaking herself free from her thoughts. “Do you trust me to get it to her safely?”

“Of course. Look at how you’ve protected it all this time. It’s not your fault that troublemaker ran into you.” 

Anya nodded. She reached out to him, her hands hovering over his arms, and he longed for her to close the distance, to wrap her in his arms and give her the comfort she clearly needed. But before she could, she seemed to remember where they were. “You’re too kind, Gleb.” She said softly, clutching her broom to her chest. 

Gleb smiled warmly at her, and tipped his hat before turning away and slipping into the crowd. 

\--

Anya sat anxiously on the edge of the fountain at five o'clock that evening, necklace anxiously clutched between her fingers. 

Gleb Vaganov was something else. 

In all her years alone, no one had offered to take the fall for her like he had. No one had offered even a shred of kindness like he had. Anya did very well not to cry so often, not since that dark night in the forest, but his kindness nearly made her burst into tears. 

His kindness seemed familiar, almost as if there had been someone in the past who might have been kind like this to her. But she couldn’t remember whoever it was. Who she could remember was Gleb, and in the short time she had known him, he had brought light to her shadowy world. 

She perked up when she saw him crossing the street to get to her. Anya stood up, fingers still toying with her necklace as she stepped away to the fountain to meet him. 

“Good afternoon, Anya.” He said when they reached each other. “I trust the rest of your day was adequate?”

Anya nodded, smiling anxiously up at him. “It was, yes. And yours?”

“Busy. But.” He stopped, and slipped a book out of his pocket, holding it out to her. “You’ll be happy to know that I actually managed to get the smudge out myself.” He placed the book into her hands, and she inspected it, gasping quietly. The book looked exactly how she had had it that morning, before her tumble. She made a sound of excitement.

“You’re a miracle worker.” She gasped, quickly stuffing it within her coat and pressing her hand over it. “Thank you, Gleb. Thank you so much.” 

“My pleasure.” He then held out the same book to her, with a smile. “Here. For your own collection.” 

“W-what?” Anya stared down at it. 

“I told you I have no need for it. While I may not see any need for fairytales, I know that sometimes we need a little lightheartedness in trying times.” He pushed it into her hand. “Please, Anya. Take it.” 

Anya did so, gasping as the spine snapped as she opened it. Gleb’s name was written neatly on the inside, and she couldn’t help but touch his signature gently. She could have hugged him, nearly did for the second time that day, but the friendship was still new, and given her limited knowledge of friendship, she didn’t want to overstep any boundaries there might have been that she didn't know about. 

“I feel as though I’ve thanked you so many times today, but I have to one more time for good measure.” She said shyly. "Thank you, Gleb." 

“Of course, my friend.” He pressed his palm lightly to the small of her back, leading her to walk at an easy pace beside him. Anya shivered, stepping out of his grasp and looking up at him. 

“I won’t be taking anything more that she gives me.” She assured him. “I shouldn’t have before, I know that. But when she dangled that book in my face I just…” Anya shook her head. “It probably sounds so foolish to you.”

“Not at all.” Gleb said easily. “I do enjoy curling up with a good book whenever I find the time. My collection isn’t vast, but you’re more than welcome to borrow any whenever you’d like. I’ll just have to do a better job at keeping troublemakers out of your path.” He winked at her, and she laughed. “We all need our way of escape. Reading is an _admirable_ way to do so.” 

Anya giggled and looked up at him. “I’m glad you understand.” 

He hummed, and then said, “I’m rather surprised that you know French.” 

Anya nodded at him. “It was a surprise to me as well.” She looked down at the book in question. “I think I have family in Paris.” 

His brows raised in surprise. “Family in Paris?” Gleb’s voice took on an unidentifiable tone. “Forgive me for asking, but how would you know?”

Anya paused, and he stopped beside her, his gaze probing as he looked down at her. She considered her words, looking down at the medals on his chest before shrugging her shoulders. “I don’t know. Ever since I woke up in that hospital, I’ve felt like I needed to get to Paris.” She glanced around them, before carefully pulling her necklace out from beneath her coat, careful not to jostle the book in the process. “I woke up with this. It says ‘Together in Paris’.” She looked up at Gleb, hope shining in her eyes. “It's my only link to my past. Whoever gave this to me _must_ have loved me. And the only thing I’ve ever felt was true in my life is that they’re waiting for me in Paris.”

Gleb looked almost flabbergasted, like he had no idea what to say. She felt bad for unloading more of her past on him, but he had asked, and from what she could tell, he genuinely wanted to know. 

Now though, she wondered if he was longing to take it back. She was a lot to take in, after all. Amnesiac street sweeper who put her dreams on a pedestal, who idealized a place she’d never been before, when she should have just been happy finding her place in the new order. 

“Paris is no place for a good and loyal Russian.” He said solemnly. Anya felt her stomach twist, but he smiled at her and winked, calming her instantly. “But perhaps a visit someday wouldn’t hurt.” 

Anya chuckled softly, and they resumed their walking. He asked her about things she had read in the past, and he told her his fair share of favorites. He even suggested a few titles for her, telling her again about how she could borrow from his collection whenever she would like. 

He seemed slightly on edge ever since she spoke about Paris, about longing to go there one day and find her family. Anya knew he held a special sort of pride for Russia, and the idea of any Russian wanting to go elsewhere was probably laughable, if not offensive to him. But he didn't address it anymore, just carried the conversation easily. She found it easy to talk to him, and he genuinely seemed to enjoy her company as well. 

Once they reached the bridge, they began to part ways until he called out her name. She stopped and looked back at him. 

“Perhaps we might do this every day.” He offered, his posture straight but his face nervous. 

“Do what?” She asked curiously. “Plan a book swap?” Anya teased.

“No, no.” He chuckled. “Walk together. You have to go past my office every day to get your broom, and then once you return it, you walk this way again. Perhaps we could walk together.”

Anya beamed at him. “Really? You’d like that?”

“I would. If…well…if you did too, of course. I do not want you to think I’m coercing you or anything-“

“Gleb, forgive me for even saying such a thing this morning.” Her cheeks colored with embarrassment. “You proved yourself so kind yesterday, I shouldn’t have even thought such a thing…”

“It’s good for you to be on your guard, Anya.” He said. “A young woman on her own can’t be too careful. But as your friend, let me remind you that you’re safe with me.” He smirked. “So long as you abide by the law, that is.” 

They shared a laugh, and Anya felt her cheeks grow warm. “Then yes, Gleb. I’d like that. Though most mornings I’m not up and about as early as I was today.”

“The same goes for me. So perhaps we will just see what happens each morning.” 

“But as far as evenings go…” Anya stuffed her hands into her pockets. “We shall be walking friends.” 

Gleb chuckled again. “Yes, we shall.” He tipped his hat to her. “Until tomorrow, my friend.”

“Until tomorrow.” She hummed, watching him linger before turning and heading in the opposite direction. “My friend.” 

\--

The budding friendship between Gleb and Anya blossomed into something very special. 

Every evening after their respective work days, they walked to the bridge together, regaling each other with stories from the day. Sometimes, there would be so much to talk about, they would sit at the fountain before even setting off, happy to discuss whatever they could think of. Anya's shyness around him slowly melted away, and Gleb was happy to find the pretty street sweeper had quite a personality. She found joy in life, told jokes that made him laugh. And he was thankful to have finally found someone who didn't roll their eyes at his own humor. Anya genuinely found him funny, and he reveled in that fact.

When winter finally melted into a warm spring and summer, Gleb could finally share his garden's bounty with Anya. She accepted it happily, and was so very grateful for what he had offered. Because of the change in the weather, they were able to take longer walks, discussing books they were sharing and even sitting on a bench together more than once to read to one another. Anya found she adored the way Gleb read aloud, how he made her feel each word he spoke. It reminded her of the many times she'd heard his speeches in the past, and she only hoped her own renditions of books they read would come across as thrilling to him.

Anya adored having a friend. He listened to her nightmares, and she in turn listened to his own, and there would be times when something would pass between them, a strange sort of yearning that confused her. But Gleb never laughed at her daydreams or her views. If she ever was mistaken, or spoke out of turn, he would always gently correct her. There were even times when she would find herself correcting him in return. Even if she didn't always agree with him, he was still so kind to her, much kinder than anyone had ever been. There was a mutual understanding between them that she hadn't ever thought would be possible. As much as he said they were equal, Anya knew they were from entirely different worlds. But it didn't seem to matter to either of them, at least, not anymore. 

Much to his delight, Anya grew comfortable with the idea of walking in public with him, even going as far as to slip her hand through his arm. She knew they made an odd pair, but after many walks with him, she began to ignore the glances they would receive. She was much too content to have him as her friend than to let the usual whispers on the street bother her.

But as summer began to transition into cool fall, she began to notice how tense Gleb would be after his days of patrol. Rumors were arising, would be all he could say. He was never short with her, but there were times when they would only walk in silence, his mind too far away and occupied with whatever troubles his duties were causing him. Anya tried not to let it bother her, but she ached to ease whatever anxieties he might have had. Gleb had done so much for her, and there was so little she could do in return. He liked when she told jokes, funny stories, so on evenings when his shoulders were tense and his jaw locked, she did her best to talk about whatever lighthearted thing she could think of to get him to smile. 

Almost always, it worked. Gleb Vaganov was wrapped around Anya's little finger. If she was ever in distress over his work related moods, he would give up his worries just to listen to her sweet voice. She cheered him up greatly, with her bright eyes and easygoing nature. Despite the ever pressing worries and rumors, she was his constant, and he truly felt like he had been blessed by having her as his friend. 

The two shared a strange friendship, that was certain. But both felt as if they had been missing something for so long. They were surprised to find out that all they had been missing was each other.

\--

“He has them.” 

Anya had already been startled awake by her dreams shortly after she had fallen asleep for the night. It was late, much too late, but around the time the other women usually came back from a night of 'work', if they came back at all. Anya had been content to lay there curled up, telling herself stories from the days she'd spent with Gleb, the anecdotes he'd shared on their walks. While they calmed her down and warmed her, they weren't enough for her to fall back asleep. She very rarely listened in on the conversations of the women under the bridge with her, especially since they were so vulgar most of the time, but for some reason, her ears perked up in curiosity. 

“You’re joking.” Vera said shakily. “How much?”

“Not sure about the price, but you know how Dmitry is. I’m sure you could persuade him for less than whatever he’s charging.” Diana replied. “I think he’s got some scheme up his sleeve. Martha knows for sure.” 

“Could you _imagine_ what we could do with travel papers? We could go anywhere. Leave this godforsaken place, start over.” Vera whispered. 

“Shhh.” Diana murmured. “No need to proclaim it to the world. And besides, he’s only willing to give one of the three up.” 

“You said so yourself I could sway him. Who knows? Maybe I steal another and give it to you.” Vera coughed out a laugh. 

“Why, comrade, how kind of you.” Diana crooned. 

Anya lay as still as she could, her eyes wide open and staring up at the vast blackness of the bridge above her. Travel papers. _Travel papers._ She could get out of Russia, go to Paris. Whoever this Dmitry was, perhaps he could be swayed by the amount of money she had saved up. Perhaps he could help her. 

Anya’s mind instantly flashed to Gleb. He’d be heartbroken if she left Russia. Even if he knew her good intentions, she had never told him she’d intended to stay in Paris upon reaching it. She would probably never return to Russia if she ever got to Paris. Her heart squeezed painfully. Gleb was her only true friend, and the thought of leaving him was unbearable. Her long, lonely days had been brightened so much ever since he'd come into her life. Picturing her life suddenly without him after half a year of his friendship seemed unimaginable.

But. Paris was her dream, had always been her dream before he had come along. And even still, no matter how close they had become, Paris was still where she knew her happy ending lay. 

Anya hoped Dmitry wasn’t someone who needed to be persuaded carnally in order to get the papers though. She prayed her money would be enough, but she couldn’t allow herself to get her hopes up. 

But, given what Gleb had been telling her lately of the tightening of the borders and the prices of exit papers rising, she knew this could be her only chance. By the time she had enough to pay for papers at the price they were now, she’d be an old woman, and her family might be long gone by then, if they weren’t already gone now. 

She wouldn’t let herself get upset over the idea. Her determination warmed her like Gleb’s mint tea. She would take action as soon as possible. Tomorrow, if she could. 

She would keep her first secret from her only friend, but, she hoped as she closed her eyes, perhaps it would pay off in the end, and he could be happy for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, this is such a filler chapter. I apologize. 
> 
> The rumors of any of the Romanovs surviving happened before the actual setting of the musical and movie. So basically, I just wanted to establish a relationship between Gleb and Anya before she actually met Vlad and Dmitry, and allow their entrance to happen much sooner than the musical’s beginning. It’s something I wanted when I first listened to the musical. I thought it’d make more of a dramatic impact if Gleb and Anya had a trusting friendship/relationship right from the beginning.
> 
> For....ANGSTY reasons. winky face.
> 
> I do try to include historical facts, given the story is based of off real people. But given the context and story, it’s clearly fictional. 
> 
> Thank you!


	4. Chapter Four.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A rainy Russian day leaves Anya sopping wet after her sweeping shift and lands her directly in Gleb's arms. She finds herself the recipient of his warm hospitality, and as they ride out the storm together, stories are shared and quiet feelings are discovered. But what about Paris?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has a few references to nightmares. Very brief and nothing in graphic detail, but I just wanted to give that warning in case anyone needed a heads up. I put little *'s around those scenes, just in case anyone wants to skip them. 
> 
> Enjoy!

**

It was cold. 

It shouldn’t be cold already, he thought to himself as he walked toward the bridge. Summer was over, but not by so much. They had at least another three weeks until the cold came and stuck around for too long. Gleb tucked his chin down into his collar, mentally kicking himself for not bringing his heavier coat and hat. Of course, it wasn't as if he could have anticipated the cold. It seemed to grow sharper and bitterer the longer he walked.

The temperature seemed to drop the closer he got to the bridge, for some reason he couldn't figure out. He found himself rubbing his arms, hugging himself boyishly like he used to when he was younger. As soon as he noticed himself doing that, he dropped his hands, looking around anxiously in case anyone passing by noticed. 

But there was absolutely no one around. And was it...was it snowing? 

He was in the middle of considering going back home to retrieve his coat. He figured he could manage, especially with his schedule for the day plopping him directly behind his desk all day, where it was thankfully warm. But Anya would have a long day outside, and perhaps she could be persuaded to take his coat. 

His breath was puffing out in little clouds as he stopped at the edge of the bridge. It was beginning to snow steadily, but his vision was clear. Everything around him was growing white at a rapid pace, and he was struck by just how much snow was piling up around him in the short time he stood there waiting for Anya. It was growing colder and colder, and the feeling was choking him. It was too bright, and as he coughed, his lungs seeming to not take in any air, all he could smell was ash and smoke, and taste blood in his mouth. It reminded him of the battlefield, of his finger on the trigger, the faceless enemies falling with a scream around him, his own fellow comrades buckling and falling. Everyone bled red, and he can remember how it mingled in the pure white snow. 

Gleb leans against the railing of the bridge, his hands trembling and his stomach churning. He could see them, could feel hands grab at his legs, hear his fallen comrades who had no chance of survival crying out, begging him to help them, why, oh, why, wasn't he helping them?

With a sob, Gleb fell to his knees, his head resting against the icy bridge. He cried loudly, his wailing echoing around the empty, pure white Leningrad around him. 

“Come away from the window, Glebka.” A voice says, a warm hand pressing to his shoulder. “Come away, my boy. Don’t look any longer.” 

Gleb opened his eyes, and suddenly, he’s transported to Yekaterinburg, to his mother’s trembling lips and her tear filled eyes. He’s beside the window on that fateful night, staring out into the darkness as he watches shadowy figures carry out lumps of fabric he knows are bodies. The Romanovs. His comrades screams turn to their screams. The children. The silence. His mother is rubbing circles into his back, but she was no longer warm, no, she was so cold, so icy, and when he turned to fall into her arms, he doesn’t see her. 

He’s on the bridge again, and it’s Anya that he’s turning to see. He scrambled to his feet, nearly begged her to take him into her arms and just hold him for a second, but he’s caught off guard by the shaking of her shoulders, the sobs that escape her gaping mouth. He reached his hands out to her but she backed away in fear, her sobs turning into a wail that makes him gag. 

“Anya…Anya…what is it, Anya?” He pleaded. 

“What did I ever do to you?” She demanded fiercely. “Why did you do this?”

“What, Anya, what did I do?” He begged. “Tell me, so that I may fix it.”

“You can’t rewrite history, Gleb. You can’t save me.” Her sobs suddenly stopped, and a burst of red blossomed on her white blouse like some sort of flower. “What did I do to deserve this?” Her eyes dropped to the blossom, her eyes wide but suddenly so still. She slumped forward, and he quickly caught her in his arms. “What did I do, Gleb?” 

Suddenly she’s looking past him, one finger pointing accusingly at something over his shoulder. He can't look away from her face. The light is fading, there's cloudiness in her eyes, and she's cold, so very cold, it makes him sick to his stomach. Her face is growing paler by the second, her blood seeping through his fingers as he held her to his chest. “What did _they_ do?” 

It's her final question. Anya goes limp in his arms. Her blood is sticky in his hands, pouring out onto the pure white snow below. He's blinded. He's choking. But Gleb finally looked over his shoulder, seven ghostly forms standing there, bathed in sparkling white. It hurt to look at them. 

“What?” A man gasped in surprise. 

And then they scream. 

**

Gleb woke with a shout. 

His room was dark, and cold, and as clarity came washing over him, he realized it had all been a dream. He was drenched in sweat, his heart pounding as he struggled to breathe. As he stumbled out of bed, the blankets twisted around his limbs, he slowly realized the window had been left open, the night air far too cold. The sweat on his skin cooled, and he felt dizzy and clammy as his hands gripped the window and shut it. 

In a rare moment of weakness, he turned and dug around in the bottom drawer of his bedside table and grabbed the bottle of vodka from inside. He drank a large swig, wishing the harsh burn would wash away the cold and the nightmare that was replaying in his mind. 

It warmed him, but it did nothing to erase the image of Anya’s blood on his hands. 

The reminder made him gag, and he barely made it to the bathroom before he retched. 

Not for the first time, he wished he knew where she lay her head. He felt a desperate need to make sure she was okay, that the dream hadn’t been some cruel omen and that she wasn’t bleeding out somewhere in the dark. He shuddered, and retched again, until he had nothing left to retch. 

“Anya…” He whispered, raking his fingers through his hair as he shakily got to his feet. “Anya…you did nothing…” He breathed, hoping the dream Anya would hear him, that she would understand him. 

He took another swig of vodka before returning the bottle to the drawer and climbing back into bed. Gleb was trembling, and it was all he could do to not light a candle and sing the song his mother would sing to him whenever he would wake in the night scared from a dream or the aching hunger. He longed for her fingers in his hair, for her quiet shushing, for her warmth. 

But she was gone, had been gone for so many years now. 

Gleb Vaganov had been alone for so long. 

And Anya had too. 

What a pair they made, he thought with a humorless chuckle. 

Not for the first time, Gleb ached for her to be there with him. He had only known her half a year, but he was head over heels in love with Anya. He had been lost to her since the first day he saw her, the first day they spoke, but knowing her all this time, being in her presence, had only deepened that attraction. He loved her with his entire being. 

Gleb longed for her to be there with him to run her fingers through his hair, to sing a sweet song she might have known, to read to him or tell him a funny story to take his mind off the blood and the screams in his nightmares. He longed to hold her, though he never had before, to feel her warmth and her breath on his neck. He longed to be her home, and for her to be his. He longed to never be alone again, because she would be there at his side, always and forever. 

Gleb knew he should not even entertain such silly dreams. But they were replacing the screams, the blood, everything, and he suddenly could understand why Anya favored fairytales so much. This was what kept her warm at night, he remembered her saying once, daydreams and fairytales were what distracted her from the real world, from the unknown haze of her past. He wished he could have the luxury of living in a fantasy, of losing himself to daydreams where he was simply Gleb Vaganov and she was Anya, and that they could simply be together. 

But his first love was Russia, and in order to honor her, he needed to keep his mind sharp and clear. He could not entertain these daydreams, no matter how much he wanted to. He could not imagine a future with Anya, not when there were so many rumors on the streets. Rumors that were not harmless, mindless rumors. These were dangerous, could start a fire, so to speak, amidst the people. 

He could not have it. He would not have it. Russia would not thrive if these rumors were allowed to be spread. 

But those were thoughts to have in the daylight hours, when he wore his uniform and medals and could carry out the tasks at hand right then and there. The night was for thoughts of dreams that could never be. In the aftermath of a nightmare, he could do nothing but picture Anya there with him, her hand on his cheek, her voice in his ear, her lips on his own. 

Love was not what revolution was for, but it might have been what he needed most. 

\--

 

Anya woke to a rainy Russian day. 

It hadn’t seemed like a terrible storm at first, just something that could pass quickly and then she could get on with her day of work. Usually when it rained, there was no way any street sweeper could get anything done, but if it was a short passing storm, that was another story. That could mean a longer shift, better wages for harder work given the way the streets were left slick and covered in debris after a good rain. 

While she waited, Anya sat on her mat under the bridge, flipping through the book Gleb had gifted her with nearly half a year ago. Every time she read through it, she was reminded of that day, how it had been the start of their daily walks together. 

If the rain kept up today, she would not get to see him at all. It had only taken a short amount of time for their daily walks to become like second nature to her. She would return her broom and wait by the fountain for ten minutes until he too left work and met her. The days of spring and summer had been longer, giving them more time to walk and talk, and she was loathe for fall and winter to come around again. The days would be shorter and colder, cutting their walks again. 

But with his new office, perhaps it would mean more chances for tea. As much as she hated going into his building with it’s many eyes, it was warm, and the mint tea he always prepared along with his warm smile and laugh behind a closed door was always desirable. 

Her stomach fluttered at the thought of his smile, and she turned to the first page of the book, her fingers caressing his signature. It seemed like such a boyish thing for him to do, to sign his name in a book, but she couldn’t help but find it endearing. 

The more she knew him, the more endeared to him she felt. Something about his openness with her, the genuine way he would listen and try to understand her babblings almost made everything she had gone through worth it. Paris was her end goal, sure, but after nine years of wandering alone, she was glad to know that at least she had made one true friend out of it. 

Gleb Vaganov was more than a friend, she knew that now. She felt the weight of his long glances, how he would stammer and trip over his words and actions, as though she was someone to impress. At first, she had been utterly oblivious, had thought that maybe that was how friends acted. But after a while, she could see the deeper feelings. The more stories she read from the book he’d given her, the more she could see that he cared about her as more than just a friend. 

And perhaps she did too, in a way. But she couldn’t wrap her head around even having those types of feelings, let alone for her only friend in the world. 

Besides, having those feelings would do her no good if she would be getting to go to Paris soon enough. 

Vera and Diana were at the end of the bridge, looking out at the rain with another one of their friends, smoking cigarettes and laughing about this and that. Anya had half a mind to walk over, to join their conversation, anything to give her another clue as to who this Dmitry was and where she could find him, if he had what she needed. 

Anya fiddled with a button on the end of her sleeve. The rain made it harder for her to eavesdrop, and her book suddenly had lost her interest the longer she went back and forth about a way to figure out what her next step was in finding this man. She could maybe ask around the Nevsky Prospekt, but that would cause suspiscion, especially since it was known that Gleb was her friend. 

She always kept her head down, minded her own business, but she still caught glances whenever they walked together or sat at the fountain talking. If she went poking around, she knew people would think she was a spy for him. 

Maybe that was why Vera and Diana hadn’t mentioned the travel papers to her. They had made mild comments about an officer squiring her around, but even they seemed to change their attitude around her. She noticed they hadn’t bothered her for a light as often, or tried to entice her. Especially after the book incident, though Anya hadn’t told Vera anything about what had really happened, she never brought Anya anymore books. And while that could have been because Anya asked her not to, she hadn’t even tried enticing or teasing her about it. 

Maybe this Dmitry was obtaining them illegally, and if she knew, maybe they thought she would rat them out to Gleb. Anya would do no such thing, if it meant _she_ would benefit from it. As loathe as she was to keep a secret from him, she had already decided long before he came around that if she could get to Paris, she would do whatever it took. 

Gleb was her friend, but she wished there was a way she could just be his friend, and not be connected in any way to the Bolsheviks. Getting to Paris would be easier. He might even have gone with her! It was thoughts like that that had her wishing he could have just been a passing man who took pity on her when that truck backfired, and not an officer. 

But fate played funny games like that, and she had to just accept it. 

Anya glanced toward the gossiping women again, chewing on her lip as she considered making a move. But before she could, they were stepping out from under the bridge, holding their hands out. She could see that it had stopped raining, which meant she needed to at least go see if her street sweeping shift was available. 

With a sigh, she put her book aside and got up. She straightened her clothes and decided against wearing a coat. While the rain had brought a slight chill to the air, it was hardly anything terrible. The days had not been warm by any means, but they weren’t cold, and if by chance the storm had completely passed and the sun came out, she would not want to lug around her coat along with her broom. Ensuring that no one was around, she transferred her two diamonds to her skirt pocket, folding them safely inside. 

The streets were wet and dirty, but the clouds were lighter, which meant the likelihood of another storm was slim. She tried not to be to eager when picking up her broom. She got to work immediately, the fresh air invigorating her, despite her hungry stomach. Anya daydreamed about Paris, about what she and Gleb would talk about on their walk that evening. 

She was working her way back to the Nevsky Prospekt when the rain started up again. She was surprised to look up and see the once light clouds had now turned into thick, black rain clouds. That morning it had been a gentle pitter patter, but now, it was officially a downpour. 

Without her coat to protect her, she was soaked within minutes. She hurried back the way she had come, dodging under storefronts and awnings periodically for even a moment’s relief from the rain, though no quick moments did a thing for her sopping clothes and dripping hair. As soon as she reached the small headquarters where she daily got her broom and clocked in, she practically threw the broom at her higher ups in a cold panic. Other street sweepers were also standing beneath the awning, murmuring and chuckling at her. She must have looked like a drowned mouse. Her shoes squeaked with each step, and she was almost positive she would pour out half the Neva when she took them off. 

They waited under the awning, a clump of damp street sweepers and a soaked Anya just watching the rain pour down. She was the only one soaked to the bone, the other street sweepers having been much smarter and started out their day bringing their coats or umbrellas or some other makeshift covering. 

They stood together in a clump for almost an hour before a few of them decided to take their chances and run the rest of the way to their prospective homes. Anya could have done the same, but that meant walking the length of the Nevsky Prospekt, and then a bit further to get to her bridge. She looked heavenward, the clouds thick and the sky growing darker as the late afternoon got closer to evening. 

Anya knew she needed to take her chances, especially considering the fact that she’d hardly dried in the hour she had stood there. She needed to get to her bridge, maybe take a chance and strip off her wet clothes. As her teeth chattered and her head spun, she silently kicked herself for not bringing her coat. She should have also been keeping a better watch on the sky. Had she looked up from her work even once to take stock of the sky instead of blissfully distracting herself with daydreams, she might have been able to prevent this entirely. Even if it meant cutting her shift short, her wages were meager enough as it was, and not finishing a full day of work would have been worth it. At this rate, her wet clothes and the cold rain would certainly give her a fever, and that might put her out for quite a few days, rather than this afternoon had she been paying better attention. She’d never done well with illnesses in her nine years alone, had lost jobs in the past because of a minor cold that prohibited her from working. 

She was already feeling terrible, and not just because of her soaked clothes. She knew it wasn’t _that_ cold, but the temperature seemed to be dropping, and was it suddenly getting windy? Anya’s stomach ached, and her hunger and the chill in her bones made it hard to focus. She looked up the street towards Gleb’s office, and though she wasn’t sure what time it was exactly, she wondered if maybe she would run into him if she stepped out into the rain now. 

Only problem was, her feet didn’t seem to be working at that moment. 

“You’re the commissioner’s girl, aren’t you?” A raspy voice asked behind her. "The one with all those speeches about a brighter and better tomorrow." She scoffed. 

Anya felt her cheeks get hot, but she turned slowly to see the owner of the voice. A short older woman was leaned against the building, grinning a smile that was missing several teeth. Anya knew she wasn’t one of the regular street sweepers, probably just a passing homeless woman in need of shelter. “You’re shivering an awful lot, my sweet. I’m sure he’d keep you nice and warm.” 

A few of the other remaining street sweepers and those standing by taking shelter under the awning snickered. Anya felt sick embarrassment spin in her stomach, and she turned away, not giving any sort of response. 

“I’ll bet he keeps you well taken care of, doesn’t he?” Another voice asked. 

Another voice laughed loudly. “From what I’ve heard, you don’t let him near you. Bet you’re giving him blue-“

“Stop it.” Anya hissed, a violent shiver shaking her body. She kept herself steady, despite the growing cold. “You don’t know anything.” 

The little group hemmed and hawed, and she shot them a glare over her shoulder before looking out at the rain. Deciding she would rather face the rain than hear anymore of their drivel, she stepped away from the safety of the covering and back out into the rain. 

Looking back, she would see that that had been her first mistake. 

Every movement caused her body pain. Her wet clothes had chilled and clung to her skin in the hour she had stood under the awning, but now stepping back into the rain caused a new chill that was absolutely painful. Anya forced herself to move, her arms wrapped around herself as she blinked through the heavy downpour. A strange dizziness was beginning to overwhelm her, and she had to pause against a street lamp as the world blurred and spun around her. Her hands were shaking, and she couldn’t remember when she had ever been so cold before. 

She blinked, trying to focus, trying to keep her head on straight. This was nothing. It was just rain. She had endured worse weather. She was hungry, that was all. She was hungry and had been cold and wet for most of the afternoon, and she just needed to get back to the bridge where it was safe and sheltered and she wouldn’t have to listen to anymore talk of nonsense about her and Gleb. 

The sky was getting darker, and she noted with dismay that it was taking her far too long to get through the Nevsky Prospekt. The more she blinked, the more dizzy she seemed to be getting. After a while longer of stumbling, she spotted the Singer House and her familiar fountain, and hurried toward it, her knees buckling just as she sank down against it’s edge. As exhausting and painful as it was to keep moving, she knew stopping was a bad idea. She _had_ to get up and keep going, dizziness be damned. She was in the open air, the rain pouring down on her in full force, but she was shaking so hard and she just needed to sit until her head stopped spinning. 

She had had too many moments like these over the years to not know the signs of just giving up. She could recall a snowstorm she had been caught in, how she’d barely made it through the night, how she had felt so cold, and yet so warm, and if she had only just closed her eyes and given in…she would have been…

Dead. Anya would have been dead. The thought brings a shred of clarity to mind, and she forced herself to her feet. Everything spun and her knees buckled again, but she forced herself forward, hoping she was at least going in the right direction of her bridge. 

“Anya?” A faraway voice said her name. It didn’t seem real, but like a ghostly memory coming back to distract her from the task at hand. She continued on, blinking rain out of her eyes and staring straight ahead. 

“Anya!” The voice was coming closer, footsteps rushing up behind her. She felt a strange fear fill her, and she spun around, her hands curled into fists. 

“L-leave me alone!” She exclaimed, her vision blurring from the quick motion her turn had been. “You’re not real, you’re not real.” 

Steady gloved hands reached out and grabbed her fists, holding them down. “Anya!” The voice said in a hushed, worried voice. “What are you doing out here in this weather?”

Anya blinked back rain and looked up. A familiar green grey uniform flooded into her vision, and something heavy and warm was suddenly draped over her shoulders. The warm scent of Gleb’s musk filled her senses, and she gasped quietly as she looked up at him through the rain. 

“Gleb?” She breathed, reaching out to grasp at his sleeve. 

"Yes, Anya, it's me." His dark eyes were wide, and he gripped her shoulders to keep her steady. “Come, show me where you live, I’ll take you home. You shouldn’t be out in this weather.” He said quickly, worry etched across his handsome face. 

At the thought of Gleb seeing her drab living conditions, she shook her head quickly and released his arm. “N-no. I can make it on my own.” She gasped as another violent shiver overwhelmed her. “Y-you need to t-take your coat back before I-I ruin it.” 

“Anya, you look…” He shook his head, his dark eyes growing serious. “You’re coming with me.” 

“Is t-that an order, c-c-c-omrade?” She drawled, eyes growing heavy. 

His lips formed a thin line. “If you’ll follow an order from an officer over a request from a friend, then yes. As Deputy Commissioner Gleb Vaganov, I’m ordering you to come with me.” Without warning, his hands dropped from her shoulders and the earth vanished from beneath her feet. 

Gleb Vaganov had swept her off her feet, and was now cradling her in his strong arms. Anya opened her mouth to scold him, but one look from him silenced her. “W-where are we g-going?” She asked with a resigned sigh, one arm sliding around his neck and the other squeezing at the front of his uniform. She attempted to rest her cheek on his chest, but she lurched back when her skin met his cold medals. 

“Home.” He said simply, holding her tightly against him as he began to rush through Leningrad. 

“Home?” She breathed, blinking furiously as her vision swam. “I-I don’t know what that is.” 

And then everything went dark. 

\--

Water was dripping everywhere. He would have one angry landlady on his doorstep if he let it persist. But Gleb Vaganov couldn’t move. 

Anya was slumped in his arms, her head tilted back over his arm, her grasp on his uniform weak, but still tight. Her breathing was short and quick, and he knew if he didn’t get her dried off and warm soon, her condition could worsen. 

But. He loathed to give up the feeling of her in his arms. His uniform was soaked and he too was beginning to shiver, but the weight of her against him like this, feeling her breath on his neck, was almost overwhelming. He snapped out of it, realizing it would not do to have her freeze to death. 

He set her down in a chair, her body slumping forward the instant she wasn’t in his arms any longer. “Anya.” He reached out for her and held her upright, carefully patting her cheeks to wake her up. “Anya, wake up, Anya.” He brushed her wet hair out of her face, saying her name repeatedly until she finally furrowed her brows and cracked her eyes open. 

“Gleb?” She rasped. “W-where are we?” 

Gleb’s cheeks instantly colored. “I…I found you out in the rain. You wouldn’t tell me where you lived, so I brought you to my place.” He smiled sheepishly, thankful she was looking at him and speaking. “You’re soaked to the bone, Anya. We need to get you cleaned up and warm as soon as possible.”

Anya looked around, her eyes seeming to be seeing, but not processing what she was seeing. He touched her hand gently, and gave her a small nod. “I’m going to draw you a bath. I’ll find you something to wear while your clothes dry. You’re going to get warmed up, and then you’re going to drink some tea and eat something. Then you’re going to sleep, and once you wake, then you shall be allowed to go.”

Anya smiled dimly. “Is t-that another s-set of o-orders, comrade?” She tapped him on the nose, her blue eyes hazy. “H-have you taken m-me prisoner f-for getting out of l-line?”

“In a way.” His cheeks grew hotter. “Can I trust you to be here when I get back from drawing you a bath?”

“A bath.” She said dreamily. “Will there be b-bubbles?”

Gleb chuckled. “Whatever you’d like, Anya.” 

“I won’t move.” She promised, tapping him on the nose again. Gleb stood up from his crouch before her, and once he was sure she was sitting fine on her own, he hurried into the bathroom. 

He started filling the tub with warm water, adding soap to make the water bubbly, just as she asked, and then went to find her something warm to wear. Once a set of pajamas had been acquired, he went to retrieve her. 

She was still sitting in the chair just as he asked, but was attempting to rise once she saw him enter the room. He hurried towards her and wrapped his arm around her, guiding her toward the bathroom. She smiled thankfully at him, but he found he could not return it. She was trembling so hard from the cold. He wondered how long she had been caught in the rain, and without her coat. Gleb refrained from asking, despite the building panic arising inside of him. She was awfully pale, and her skin felt hot, despite her cold wet clothes. 

At the sight of the meager bubbles in the tub, she gave a delighted, if not tired and creaking, squeal. “Bubbles.” She sighed, giving his hand at her waist a squeeze. “T-thank you, c-comrade.” 

“Will you be alright on your own?” He asked warily. 

“Of course.” She nodded at him and pushed at his chest. “I s-suppose I’d s-still say y-yes even if I n-needed help. It’d be t-terribly improper for you to h-help. S-so get out, m-my kind friend.” 

Gleb sputtered, and found nothing to say in response that wouldn’t sound utterly idiotic. With a quiet nod, he let her go and once ensuring she was stable on her own two feet, he left her alone and shut the bathroom door behind him. While she bathed, he set about cleaning up the wet spots she had left behind, and starting a boiling pot of tea. He warmed up some leftover soup and a slice of fresh bread as well. Every so often he walked up to the door and said her name, terrified she might pass out in the tub and drown, or fall. Thankfully she replied to him each time, the tremble in her voice gone thanks to the hot water. 

Anya never looked out of sorts whenever he saw her. He hoped wherever she laid her head at night at least had a tub, that she was safe and warm. In one of their many conversations over the past months, he had made some joking comment about following her to make sure she made it home safely. 

Anya hadn’t appreciated that, and he had sworn and promised never to follow her or trail her at all. They trusted each other. And so he had kept his promise, despite knowing how easy it would be to silently follow her, just to see, just so he could know that she was safe. It's not like he would have abused the knowledge. He wouldn't accost her or bother her or judge her at all. And it wasn't as if the information would be of any use to his duties either, if that's what she was afraid of, if she was actually afraid of anything to do with that. She would never even know he was there, but he found he wouldn’t be able to face her if he broke her trust. 

He was just finishing mopping up the spot near the door where he had lingered when she finally emerged.

Anya was wearing his pajamas, clinging to the doorjamb as if it was her lifeline. The dull blue fabric was baggy and she had seemed to do all she could to fold portions of it to keep it on her. She was watching him mop up the water, her blue eyes tired and hazy. 

“That was lovely.” She murmured, releasing the doorjamb and stepping towards him. Her long hair was wet, but she had managed to braid it away from her face. Her cheeks were pink, though she was still awfully pale, and the circles beneath her eyes were dark and deep. 

“I made you some soup and tea as well.” He said, taking her by the elbow and leading her to his small sofa. He winced as he felt the heat of her skin through the pajamas. It was definitely not warmth caused from the bath water, but a fever. His lips thinned, but he forced a small smile as she sank down against the cushions, her palms caressing them curiously. 

“I should be the one cleaning up. I dripped all over the place.” 

“It was mutual.” He said, gesturing to his own damp uniform. “Get comfortable, my friend. Neither of us is going back out into that storm anytime soon.” 

“Is that another order?” She teased. 

“Perhaps.” He sent her a winning smile and hurried into the kitchen to retrieve her meal. “Eat, Anya. I am going to get cleaned up myself and then I’ll join you.” 

Anya nodded at him, and he forced himself not to linger. His own chill was setting in, and it would do neither of them any good if they were both ill. 

Once he was in the bathroom, he hung up her wet clothes and washed up himself. He was pulling on dry clothes and hanging up his own wet uniform when the situation hit him in full force. 

Anya was in his home. 

He had carried Anya through the streets of Leningrad to get her there. 

But still, that didn’t negate the fact that Anya was currently in his apartment. Wearing his clothes. Drinking his soup and tea. 

Gleb raked his hands through his hair, suddenly self conscious of his simple slacks and clean white shirt. He was home, not on the job, and had no need of his uniform. But suddenly, he felt naked without it. He wondered what Anya might think, that perhaps he had finally snapped, had finally wanted something more out of their friendship. He wondered if she thought he was taking advantage of her. 

He longed for the open streets, where she could see him for who he was, where she could trust him. Here, locked away in his small home, he could see if she had reason to be scared or uncomfortable. 

But they _trusted_ each other. They had known each other long enough, he had proven himself to her time and time again. 

Anya _knew_ him. 

Still, Gleb considered just staying in the bathroom for an hour, giving her a chance to slip out if she needed to. She hadn’t seemed uncomfortable in the least bit, probably too dizzy from her fever and the cold to really be able to grasp the situation. For that, he was thankful at least. And he knew that at least now he could monitor her, perhaps find some sort of medicine in his cabinets that could help the fever. 

Something sparkled on the counter, catching his attention. 

He’d never really seen her treasured bauble up close. It was a simple chain that held a broken flower and the promise she revered more than anything in the world. He’d tried not to let his discomfort show that she, a good and loyal Russian, would ever want to go to such a depraved place as Paris. 

But he would not be the one to stomp on her dreams. No, he would let her have her daydreams of Paris, but he would keep mentioning when borders closed or travel paper prices went up or anything that might actually prevent her from going to that wretched place. 

He turned the broken flower over in his hands a few times, reading and rereading the inscription. With a sigh, he stepped out of the bathroom after a long moment, necklace in hand as he approached her again. 

She had finished the soup and bread, and was sipping at the tea. Her legs were criss crossed on the sofa, her eyes looking toward the window at the storm outside. She yawned, looking up at him as he stood near the couch awkwardly holding her necklace. 

“Together in Paris.” She hummed, reaching out with one hand to take it. He let her, watching as she slipped it around her neck, the charm disappearing beneath the collar of the too big pajama shirt. “Someday soon.” She said absently, setting the teacup down. 

Gleb furrowed his brow, looking down at her as she lay out on the sofa. She pressed her cheek to the one pillow he had there. “What do you mean, Anya?” He asked cautiously. 

“Paris.” She whispered. “Perhaps it’ll happen soon.” 

“Why do you say that?” He asked. He knew that perhaps she was just delirious from the cold, feeling sick and was now spouting off exhausted babble. 

“I don’t know.” She sighed. “I just…I want it so bad.” 

Gleb turned and went to the cupboard, pulling out a thick quilt and walking back to her. She looked sleepily up at him as he draped the blanket over her, tucking it securely around her. “I know you don’t like when I talk about Paris, but Gleb…it’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

“I know, Anya.” He said, hoping his voice didn’t sound too pained. 

“You could come with me, you know. I’d like that.” She smiled sleepily up at him. 

“Maybe.” He said absently, though knowing it would be impossible. Still, it warmed him to know that she wanted him to go with her. Gleb shook his head, and adjusted the quilt over her feet. “Anya, how long were you in the rain for?” He asked gently, pressing his palm to her forehead. 

“I don’t know. It wasn’t raining when I started my shift. And then…I was without my jacket when it started and…” She yawned again. “I was soaked for a good long while, until you came to my rescue.” 

“Anya…” He murmured. “You’re starting to fever. Sit up, let me get you something to prevent it from getting worse.” 

“Don’t worry about me, Gleb. I’ve suffered much worse.” She looked up at him wearily. 

“I’m going to worry about you, and you’re just going to have to accept it.” Gleb snapped, and then instantly regretted it when she pouted up at him. “You’re going to take medicine and then you’re going to sleep.” 

“Yes, sir, comrade, sir.” She mumbled, and he rolled his eyes at her as he went to the kitchen cupboard. Once he had mixed a concoction into another cup of tea, he sat beside her until she had drunk it all. She winced at the bitter taste, but giggled and made some joke about vodka that jumbled together before she lay back down. 

Gleb tucked her in, and she smiled wearily up at him when his hand pressed to her cheek again. He had half a mind to sit with her while she slept, at least to monitor her fever, but the longer he was in her presence like this, with her smiling up at him like _that_ the more he realized just how much in danger he was. “Get some sleep, alright?” He murmured gently.

Her smile faded into something sad and serious. “ _They_ always come when I sleep. I don’t…I don’t want to.” She cut herself off with a yawn, and even as she argued, her eyes fluttered shut. 

“Goodnight, my dear friend.” He began to pull his hand away, but her hand shot out from beneath the blanket and caught his before he could step away. 

He looked down in surprise, expecting to see her shining blue eyes looking up at him. Instead, she was drifting off to sleep, her fingers limply clinging to his own. 

Reluctantly, he extracted his fingers from her own, his hand burning from her touch, and shut himself in his room, his heart and mind at war. 

**

 

Anya was spinning. 

Warm hands were guiding her through a dance, lifting her into the air and twirling her. She was laughing and free, despite the warmth of the room and the heaviness of the dress she wore. 

A little boy had fallen, and she pushed away whoever held her, and went running to his aid. A man in white rushed forward, her father, and picked up the boy and set him on his feet again. Anya brushed his clothes off, crooning to him, her little brother. Her sisters were standing behind her, avoiding the terror in her mother’s eyes as she swept forward in all her finery 

The boy was smiling at them all, so much life and love in his sickly face, and everything seemed at peace again. 

The scene shifted, and the room was filled with smoke, and there was something heavy laying over her chest, making it hard to breathe. 

Anya was choking. She was bleeding. The heaviness on her chest was a person. Her mother's nurse, she realized in horror. Her sisters were wailing, their shrieks of agony echoing throughout the loud room. Her mother was gasping for air. Her brother was so still. Her father’s eyes were closed, a red flower blossoming across his plain shirt. Anya realized in horror that each member of her family bore the same flower, herself included. 

Anya was choking. She looked up in the darkness, searching for a face, searching for a hand to help her up, to help all of them. 

What she saw was the green gray uniforms of officers surrounding them. The room was smoky and the air was thick, but she could make out Gleb standing at the forefront. His eyes were cold and unfeeling as he stared at her, hatred in his sneer as he pointed one finger toward her. 

There was a flash of fire, and then everything went black. 

**

Anya sobbed, the sound pulling her from her sleep. In a frantic effort to regain consciousness, she flailed, and her body fell off of whatever cushioned surface she had been previously resting on. 

She looked around frantically, hardly recognizing her surroundings at first. It was still pouring outside, a flash of lightning lighting up the room, a booming roll of thunder following only moments later. Her head was throbbing and the room was spinning, but the last cold grasp of her nightmare was fading, rapidly being replaced with clarity.

She remembered the previous day, her foolishness in the rain, that Gleb had found her and brought her home. Her stomach flip flopped, the sensation that someone, Gleb, had come and found her and tended to her, warmed her heart. But it was only for a moment, as the choking terror from her dream returned with another flash of lightning with an even bigger boom of thunder. 

From behind a closed door, Anya heard Gleb’s voice, and she shakily peered over the edge of the couch as the door opened and he appeared. He looked around blindly for a long moment before his eyes fell on her form beside the sofa. "Anya." He breathed, and she caught a hint of relief in his tone as he hurried towards her. His hands were clammy as they reached for her own, and she couldn't find her voice as he helped her up to her feet. His handsome face was tired, and twisted in anxiety, and her heart stuttered as she realized his dark eyes were shining with unshed tears. 

“Are you alright?” He asked shakily, his eyes taking stock of her in the darkness. 

Anya swallowed thickly. "I could ask you the same question." Her hand hovered over the side of his face, before dropping to her side. "I-I'm fine, Gleb. It was only a nightmare." She said solemnly. "You too, I gather?" 

He raked his fingers through his hair. They both turned toward the couch and lowered themselves onto it. “Yes.” He said quietly. “I won’t upset you by talking about it.” 

“You can, you know.” She said. “We…we tell each other things.” 

Gleb smiled wanly. “That we do.” A flicker of lightning lit up the room again, and Anya jumped in surprise and looked toward the window again. “Suppose you tell me yours and then I’ll tell you mine.” 

Anya was taken back to the image of Gleb standing over her, the faces of the other people in her dream gone as if they hadn’t been there at all. It was frustrating. She knew who they were in her dreams, but the instant she awoke, it all disappeared. She chewed on her lip again, looking at him warily before shaking her head. 

Gleb nodded in understanding, and rested his hand on her arm. “How are you feeling? You were fevering before you fell asleep.” 

“That makes sense, since I feel rather terrible right now." She ran a hand over her aching forehead. “It’s my own fault.” 

Gleb gave her arm a squeeze before withdrawing his hand. “Well. You need to go back to sleep, then.” He moved to stand up, but a strange panic filled her and she quickly grabbed his hand. Gleb went very still, and she knew she wasn’t imagining the slight tremor in his hand. 

“Stay with me, will you?” She asked quietly. “I usually…don’t go back to sleep after a nightmare.” 

He smiled, and a shiver ran up her spine when his fingers curled around her own. “Like that first day.” 

"Yes." Anya smiled as the memory passed over her mind. 

“Okay, Anya.” He said, reaching for the quilt he had tucked over her initially. “Here.” 

Anya took the quilt and pulled it over herself, but then surprised both of them by draping it over him as well. She sidled up beside him, her heart pounding wildly in reaction to exactly what she was doing. 

“Anya…” He started, flinching when her cheek pressed against his shoulder. “You’re still burning up.” 

“I’m still cold. And I’m warmer here than I’ve ever been anywhere else.” She squeezed his hand, her legs curling up beneath herself. She knew she was being awfully forward, and for what purpose, she didn’t know. But it was like he said, she was burning up, still fevering. Perhaps that was it. But perhaps it was also the fact that she had been without another person for so long now, and with how deep their bond had gotten over the past few months, she felt utterly at ease and comfortable to tuck herself against him like this. Never before had she had someone near her who cared when she had a nightmare. The women under the bridge always scolded at her, and she had never known what it would be like to have someone sit with her and distract her from the visions in her mind. Gleb was warm and sturdy and right there, and hadn't she wondered what it would be like to have someone to sit with her and comfort her? Of course it should be him. Besides, it wasn’t anything improper. 

The room was dark, and aside from the pounding rain outside, it was quiet for a long time. Gleb’s hand in hers was warm, and his grasp tight, though the tremor she knew was caused by nerves had not let up. Anya smiled to herself, and then said, “Tell me something, Gleb. Anything.” 

He was quiet for a long moment, and didn’t speak again until another flash of lightning lit up the room and a roll of thunder followed. “I suppose I could tell you about my mother.” 

Anya gasped and gave his hand a squeeze. “Yes, oh yes, Gleb, tell me about her.” .

Gleb had told her brief things about his childhood, how amidst all the bad days there was still happiness in the warmth of his mother’s smile. Anya had been starved for a mother for so long, a mother to tuck her in at night and brush her hair and hold her and teach her how to be a proper lady. His brief stories made her wish she could have known the lady and some nagging question in the back of her mind wondered if the woman would have approved of her, a street sweeper, befriending her son. Anya wondered if she would have taken her under her wing, had the older woman known what Anya had been through. She noticed though that he rarely spoke of his father, except when he was talking about his early beginnings with the Bolsheviks or how their duties might have aligned. 

Truthfully, Anya would have been happy listening to Gleb recite a cookbook. She supposed that’s what made their friendship special. They could talk to each other but everything and nothing and still never grow tired of each other. 

“Hmm.” Gleb hummed, his thumb absentmindedly brushing along the back of her hand. “My mother was an excellent cook. We did not always have the proper ingredients for much of anything, but there was a time when my father brought a bounty home, and we were able to make her favorite, stroganoff.” She could hear his smile in his voice. "Have you ever had it?" 

“I never cared for stroganoff.” Anya murmured without thinking too much about it. It struck her that at some point in her past she had to have tried it and decided she didn't like it, but she just couldn't remember where or when exactly. “But I’m sure it was delicious.” 

“Oh, you would have liked my mother’s stroganoff, Anya, I can assure you. I have her recipe, even tried to make it a few times, but I can’t say I’m a very good cook.” He laughed, the sound deep and warm against her cheek. “She’d probably be disappointed in me to know that.” 

“I’m sure she’s not disappointed in the least bit.” Anya assured him. “You make a wonderful cup of tea.”

“There’s something.” He chuckled. “At least I have that going for me.” 

Anya lifted her head, eyeing him sleepily. “Perhaps we could try it together sometime.” 

“I would not want to ruin your tastebuds, Anya.” He gave her hand a squeeze. “Trust me when I say you would never try stroganoff ever again if I got the chance to make it for you.” 

Anya’s head ached, pressure in her nose forcing her to lay her head back down against his shoulder once more. “It’s not as though I get many chances to change my mind on my feelings toward the dish.” She giggled. “But I will take your word for it.” 

Gleb adjusted the quilt around her, and toyed with her hand in his own for a minute. “Well…maybe one of these nights we could.” 

“I’d like that.” She hummed. “Tell me more.” 

Gleb leaned his head back against the sofa cushion. “My father never approved of my being a bookworm. He would push pamphlets at me, books on serious matters regarding the motherland and the change he and his fellow comrades longed to see. I used to pour over them when I was young. Looking back on it now, it was probably all far too serious for a boy.” He snickered. “But my mother used to even it out by reading me fictional tales every night before bed.”

“Oh? What kind?” She asked, fighting back a yawn. The warmth and sound of his voice was making her sleepy again. “Fairytales?”

“Mmhm.” He said, much to her surprise. “My father used to scold us, tell us, ‘the new order had no need for fairytales.’ But my mother never stopped.” Anya felt the scruff of his cheek brush against the top of her head, and she could help but smile and give his hand a squeeze. “I still have her book of fairytales. Perhaps I’ll bring it out in the morning, if you’d like.” 

Anya’s smile instantly faded. “I’ll have to get to work first thing tomorrow, Gleb.” She mumbled, yawning into his shirt. 

“Not if you’re still fevering like this, Anya. And if it’s still raining, you shouldn’t be out there anyways.” 

“ _Another_ order, commissioner?” She teased. "I am my own woman, you know." He chuckled, and she felt him nod against her head. 

“I know, my friend, I know." His thumb brushed over the back of her hand again. “Don’t be stubborn. Just listen to your friend.” 

Anya rolled her eyes. “Oh, fine.” 

They sat quietly for a moment, Anya fighting back sleep and Gleb humming to her under his breath. It was an unfamiliar tune, but it was welcomed. It held no ghostly, haunting tunes like the song deep within her heart. No, this song was old, and gentle, and calming. His deep voice rolling along with it soothed her, and she curled closer against him as she gave in to drowsiness. 

“I like hearing about your mother, Gleb.” She said sleepily. “It makes me wonder about my own mother.” 

“She would have liked you, Anya.” Gleb murmured. 

“You’re just saying that.” Anya said stubbornly. 

“No, I promise you, I’m not.” He resumed his humming for a moment before adding, “Go back to sleep, Anya. There's nothing to be afraid of any longer.” 

Anya found she could not argue with him. His humming mingled with the pattering rain outside made the perfect lullaby. As she drifted off to sleep, her terrifying images of Gleb looming over her was replaced with a brightly smiling Gleb, eating his mother’s stroganoff. 

\--

Gleb didn’t know when he dozed off, but what he did know when he awoke, Anya was in his arms. 

She had been innocently leaning against his shoulder, her hand in his own, the last he knew. But now, his arm was around her, and her slight form was resting against his chest, her hand pressed to the place above his heart. 

It was overwhelming. Gleb felt like he could not breathe right, like his heart was about ready to burst out of his chest from the feeling of her there in his arms, her breath warm and slow against his neck. 

His body was sore from having fallen asleep at some point in an upright position, but he didn’t dare move. Anya was at peace, for what might have been the first time in a long time, if his assumptions were correct. 

The night before, they had each awoken from a nightmare, and sought solace in each other’s company. Images of her bloodstained body in his arms again had been the last thing he’d seen in sleep, so to awaken and find her in his living room, very much alive and real, had been a comfort. 

It could not always be like this, he knew. Times were different now, and yes, men and women lived together, more often than not. And even innocently. But he knew he could not really bring a woman into his home unless he intended on making her his own. 

His gaze dropped to Anya, and his cheeks grew hot as he realized just how much he wanted to make that dream a reality with the very woman in his arms. The only woman he had brought into his home, and with the most innocent of intentions to boot. 

Gleb felt foolish. He could not prolong this. And what would she feel if she awoke in such a close, intimate position? 

Reluctantly, he extracted himself from her, taking great care to lay her down as gently as he could on the couch. He tucked the quilt around her, his arms instantly missing the sensation of her. Gleb gently touched her face, relieved to find her warm, but no longer fevering. Still, he could tell by the sound of her breathing that she was congested, that her stint in the rain had done her no favors. 

Gleb knew it was early, and even if it was drizzling and she did not have a street sweeping shift, he still had his own duties to perform. With one last long lingering look at her sleeping form, he slipped into his room and began to dress for the day. 

His uniform was still damp and slightly wrinkled, but he would have no time to properly tend to it until that evening. His heart stuttered as a thought entered his mind. Anya. Would she still be there when he returned? She had promised she would rest, that she would stay in. But would she really? 

Gleb leaned against the wall at the thought of Anya waiting for him there when he returned home from work. Perhaps he would pick up supplies for stroganoff. They could try a hand at cooking together. Maybe with her touch, it would finally come out correctly, finally taste exactly like his mother’s had.

Gleb shook himself. It would do him no good to get his hopes up. Anya _was_ her own woman, and while they were friends and respected each other, he knew she would not do anything she didn’t want to do. If she was gone when he returned, then that would be that. He could comfort himself in knowing that at least he had been able to help her in her time of need, and that her presence after his own nightmare had been a comfort to himself as well. 

He carried his shoes in his hand, quietly tiptoeing around and leaving a note for her on the table. He gave her one last lingering look, grateful she was still sleeping peacefully, before he forcibly removed himself from her presence. 

\--

Anya didn’t wake up until nearly noon. 

It was the longest night of sleep she had ever gotten, and despite the alarming pain in her head, she still felt better than she had in years. 

This time upon waking up, Gleb’s apartment did not seem so unfamiliar. Her mind was clearer than it had been the night before. 

It was very quiet, and when Anya spared the clock on the wall a glance, she realized how late she had slept. She didn’t panic and jump up, given the fact that it was still raining, but she still felt strange for having slept so long. 

But she clearly had needed it. 

Gleb must have been gone for quite some time, she realized, looking around the dim apartment. She felt strange for being in a man’s apartment, but it was Gleb, and he trusted her, and she would never do anything to break that trust. Still, she felt as though she had entered another world entirely. 

This was where Deputy Commissioner Gleb Vaganov lay his head at night, where he shed his uniform and was just Gleb Vaganov, and nothing more. Anya felt as if she had been privileged to see such a domain, and she actually found herself grateful for the rain for landing her there. 

Anya slowly turned onto her back, tugging the quilt up beneath her chin as she stared at the ceiling. She replayed their conversation, the sound of his humming, the feel of his warmth beside her. 

It was then that she realized she hadn’t awoken from anymore nightmares in the night. She had successfully fallen asleep after the first nightmare, and had not awoken in any sort of terror after. Gleb had warded them off with his stories, with his song, with his presence. Worry wormed it's way through her mind as she replayed how terrified he had been when he left his room, and she nearly cried just remembering the tears in his eyes. She hoped and prayed that her presence had brought him the same comfort he had brought her. 

Anya reached up to anxiously toy at her necklace, and she couldn’t help but giggle at the sight of Gleb’s baggy pajama shirt. The sleeve had come unfolded in the night, sliding down to her elbow when she lifted her arms to inspect the simple fabric. 

It felt strangely intimate to be wearing a man’s clothes, even if it was as simple as pajamas. It felt strangely intimate in general to be in that situation. Her eyes went to the window again, watching as the rain fell, much lighter than it had the day before. 

She would have to leave soon. She could not entertain any sort of ideas that she could stay there, and besides, she still had her job to do tomorrow, regardless of her head cold. She still had to find Dmitry, still had her future to consider. As much as she wanted to lay there waiting for Gleb to come back and distract her with his presence, she had to make herself focus. 

But she had promised Gleb she wouldn’t stir, at least for the day, so she contented herself to lay there, humming his song from the night before and toying with her necklace. 

She got up to use his bathroom and untangle her messy braid when she saw the note he had left behind for her. In his familiar handwriting, he explained where she could find something to eat and drink, along with instructions for medicines she might take if she was still feeling ill. He then went on to tell her where his book collection was, that her clothes were drying in the bathroom, and then there was a joke about having her water his plants for him that made her shake her head and laugh, despite the ridiculousness of it. 

Anya helped herself to more of the soup he had given her last night, and while tea was brewing, she combed her fingers through her hair and rebraided the strawberry blonde locks. She looked around, his apartment small and bare. She peeked out the window at his thin balcony, at the assortment of pots and boxes littered about containing what she assumed was his garden. 

After a while, her head ached too much and so she reluctantly took the medicine he had offered her. She knew she should dress and begin to get ready to leave, especially with the rain lightening up and the day passing by, but she wasn’t quite ready to return to her life just yet. And besides, she couldn't leave without seeing him to thank him for his hospitality, right? 

Anya cursed her head cold, along with her inability to cook. If she was a proper lady, she might have been able to have dinner waiting on the table for him when he returned home. But even if she was a proper lady with proper skills, she was not the lady of the house, and anything in his cupboards or icebox were not hers to take and use. 

She contented herself to sit on the sofa with the quilt he’d tucked around her and read. She skimmed a few books he had mentioned before in their conversations, but the one that really caught her eye was a book of fairytales with a worn cover and thin pages. 

Anya knew this was the book his mother had read to him when he was a child. The front page held a gentle sentiment in a mother’s proper handwriting, and Anya could not help but touch the words with reverence. 

She happily read a large portion of the stories before realizing the time. Gleb would no doubt be on his way home soon, and she was still wearing his pajamas and tucked on the sofa as though she would be staying another night. 

And as lovely as that would be, it could not be. 

Anya’s clothes were thankfully dry, if not a little chilled, but she forced herself to dress anyways, folding his pajamas up as neatly as possible and leaving them on the bathroom counter. She located her shoes and was slipping them on when the door suddenly opened, and he appeared. 

His eyes landed on her in an instant, and Anya watched as he sheepishly took a step back, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to come up with something to say. Her cheeks felt hot, and she knew it was not the fever returning. 

“Hello.” He finally landed on, slipping his hat off and shutting the door behind him. 

“Hello.” She nodded at him, and stood up, smoothing her hands over her stomach in an effort to ensure her shirt was properly tucked into her skirt. They stood staring at each other for a long moment, trying to decide what to say next, when he finally broke the silence. 

“I’m glad you’re still here. Did you rest?” 

Anya blinked at him. “I…yes.” Her eyes went toward the window, and she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “The rain stopped.” 

“It has. Seems the storm is passing.” He craned his neck down so he could look into her eyes. “Are you feeling better?” 

She wasn’t, though she knew she would be feeling much worse had he not found her and attended to her like he had. “I am, all thanks to you.” She walked up to him. “Thank you for taking such good care of me, Gleb.” 

Gleb smiled down at her. “Of course, Anya.” She looked past him towards the door, and he quickly held up a bag she hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “I thought we might try our hand at making stroganoff.” 

“Oh!” She gasped with a smile. Her manners from whatever previous life she had led kicked in, and she reluctantly shook her head. “I don’t want to overstay my welcome.” Her cheeks turned pink.

“Nonsense!” He said quickly, and a little loudly. “We shall eat and perhaps listen to a record or two, and then I’ll walk you home.” 

“To the bridge, Gleb. I'll make it the rest of the way on my own just as I usually do.” Anya corrected gently, noting how his face fell slightly. “But if you’re sure…then I suppose I can be persuaded to help you.”

He brightened instantly. “Yes, of course, Anya. You are welcome here. I could certainly use a woman’s touch, especially when it comes to cooking.” 

Anya laughed. “Even if said woman can’t even remember the last time she ever cooked, and she has a head cold?” 

Gleb smirked. “Even then. Said woman sounds like she’d be the perfect one to handle the duties set before her.” 

“Then by all means.” Anya took the bag from him, ignoring the flutterings in her stomach. “Let’s begin.” 

\--

Stroganoff was still not her favorite dish, but that hadn’t seemed to matter in the grand scheme of things. 

Anya was cold, and beneath her bridge again, with her simple blanket and her head aching. But she wasn’t hungry, and the warmth of her evening with Gleb was enough to make it all worth it. 

Life had not been kind to her, had given her more dark days than anything else. But days like today, despite the rain and dark clouds, were still brighter than anything else. 

She and Gleb had ended up burning their fingers and most of their meal, but they’d eaten it anyways, all the while laughing and teasing each other. It had been so fun, and Anya couldn’t remember the last time she had laughed so much. 

He had fascinated her with the phonograph, showing her how the records worked and how to place them. He’d sung along to different songs, and she’d listened happily while clumsily dicing vegetables. 

Anya wanted more nights like that. He gave her a taste of what a home could be like. A home could be full of music and laughter and voices and warmth. Anya felt as though she belonged when she was with Gleb, in his small home. It made her wonder if her family's home had been that way, what her childhood had been like. As well as she and Gleb got along, she felt silly for not having as many stories about her own person as anyone else did. But Gleb never made her feel inadequate. He was so so patient and kind with her. 

Her feelings confused her, yet again, but for once, she didn’t bother letting them put a damper on her happy heart. Like that backfiring truck, the rain had played a strange part in their friendship. It didn’t make sense how such inconvenient things could bring so much happiness, but Anya certainly wasn’t going to complain. 

The stench of cigarette smoke reached her nose, and Anya curled herself into a tighter ball, thankful she had her back to Vera and Diana. 

“She finally graces us with her presence.” Vera laughed. 

“Shhh. She’s probably asleep.” Diana hummed. 

“And? I want to know details. You know Martha said she saw Anya get carried off by her officer?” Vera laughed. “I have to know if pure and sweet little Anya finally-“

“You’ll just upset her.” Diana said, though she too was snickering. 

“Oh, who cares?” Vera replied. “I’m sure we’ll have much more in common now though.” 

Diana snorted. “I doubt it. That girl doesn’t know what she’s got, you know? If Gleb Vaganov was making eyes at _me_ I wouldn’t spend half a year stringing him along.”

“Isnt’t that the truth.” Vera said glumly. 

Anya rolled her eyes to herself, but still didn’t move. Especially when their voices suddenly lowered. 

“Martha also told me that tomorrow would be a good day.” Vera whispered. “Dmitry’s been seeing a lot of girls lately, but apparently none of them are good enough. Fewer and fewer girls are showing up, so it’s up to us to go in there tomorrow and wow him and that Popov fellow.” 

“The Yusupov Palace?” Diana whispered back. “It’ll be hard getting in. You’ve seen how boarded up it is.”

“If Dmitry and Popov can do it, then we certainly can. Besides, Martha knows a way in.” 

“What if this is a trick?” 

“It’s not!” Vera exclaimed, instantly being shushed by Diana. “The other girls have seen the travel papers for themselves. We pretend all the time, don’t we? Tomorrow will just be a piece of cake.” 

Diana's huffed. “I hope you’re right. I’d hate to waste my time.” 

“You won’t be, my friend, I promise. It’ll be worth it once we’re out of here.” Vera insisted. 

Anya smiled to herself, her heart warming. 

Yes, it most certainly _would_ be worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I definitely intended to make this chapter enter in Vlad and Dmitry (officially, wink wink) and yet here we are, LOL. I was honestly stumped with this chapter and getting some things I'd already written in order. It's a struggle when the latter half of this story is already written but there's still so much that has to come first before we can get to that part. 
> 
> I know this is just another filler chapter but I couldn't help myself. I've got lots of ANGST coming shortly so...calm before the storm, so to speak. 
> 
> And I know what ya'll are thinking. Gleb loves Anya already? I know, I'm like, chill maybe bro. But in the musical he's got a huge crush on her after ONE instance, so of course if they've been friends for half a year, he'd definitely already have heart eyes for her. SO. Yeah. 
> 
> And in case ya'll didn't know, I have a writing tumblr where I post photosets with each chapter, in case you want to follow at penoflittlelatte . tumblr . com 
> 
> As always, I LOVE reading your comments and reviews. It's truly heartwarming that anyone is interested in this little story. Thank you very much!


	5. Chapter Five.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anya meets a pair of conmen and finds herself closer to reaching Paris. But with the promise of Paris comes the realization that she would have to leave behind her only friend in order to discover the truth of her dreams and her past.

“Yes, sir, my office is completely up to standards. No, actually, it’s better than standard!” Gleb chuckled. “The view of the Nevsky Prospekt is magnificent. And finally, a good Russian telephone that works!” 

Gorlinsky went silent on the other end, and Gleb pulled the phone away from his ear, staring at it a moment before pressing it back to his cheek. The line had not disconnected, given the way Gorlinsky gave an unamused sigh, reminding Gleb exactly who he was speaking to. Unlike Anya, Gorlinsky did not find his jokes the least bit amusing. 

Gleb coughed awkwardly. “That was a joke, sir. We have excellent telephones.” 

Gorlinsky sighed, and Gleb felt his collar grow suddenly tight. The phone call from his commanding officer to check up on Gleb’s newly appointed office had been long overdue, but so had Gleb actually attaining an office to begin with. Gleb hadn’t complained, of course, but he’d been in his new office for nearly a month now, and Gorlinsky was only calling him now to congratulate him and see how he was doing. 

“I’m glad they are up to par, comrade.” Gorlinsky said in a clipped voice. “Forgive me for not calling sooner, but there have been a great deal of pressing matters to attend to.” 

“No need for apologies, sir.” Gleb hummed, glancing toward the window behind his desk. “I can’t say I’ve had much time to even spend in my office as of late.” 

Gorlinsky grew eerily quiet. “Yes, Vaganov, I’ve been told that you’ve been rather distracted lately.”

Gleb felt his throat constrict. “Sir?” 

“A few comrades have spoken of you having a lady friend.” At Gleb’s choked silence, Gorlinsky barked out a laugh. “Finally! I almost didn’t believe it at first, but it seems the rumors are true!” 

Gleb sank into his chair, the situation feeling strangely ridiculous. “Sir, she’s not my-“

“Comrade, this is one rumor in Leningrad that I am more than pleased to hear. You have every right to a companion. Hell, I even think marriage would do you good!" _Marriage._ Gleb's heart jumped at the idea, picturing Anya waiting for him in their home, picturing her greeting him with a warm kiss. He shook the thoughts away as Gorlinsky's voice grew serious again. "But do not let it affect your work. I can see that you haven't been. You’ve been doing a fine job at keeping that aspect of your life separate from your work, but heed my words nonetheless. There will be time for fun and games once the Romanov rumors are put to rest.” 

Ah, yes. Gleb’s brows drew together in a glare, and he stared down at the numerous reports that had landed on his desk in the past weeks. Slippery conmen and young ladies seeking royal jewels had popped up before in the past, but not as much as they had been lately. His intel said the Dowager Empress was looking for a reward for the return of any of her lost grandchildren. It was ridiculous, laughable, really, but they were all to be taken seriously. Gleb had fielded one too many report on the matter, and what was worse, groups of ‘women of the night’ had begun to invade his office on a daily basis to report random citizens they thought were entwined in said rumors. Gleb and his fellow comrades had been doing their best to put out fire starters, but the faster the rumors spread, the worse it seemed to be getting. 

It had been what was putting him on edge so often, and he thought about Anya, about how he had kept it all from her. He wanted his duties to be separated from his time with her. It would do neither of them any good to darken their moods with rumors of a survivor in a royal family that was long dead and buried. She had picked up on how tense he had been, and he smiled in memory of the various jokes and stories she had used to distract him with over the weeks. She knew not to ask what his duties entailed, never poked and prodded, but he still couldn’t help but wonder if she knew about the rumors, what with her work putting her right in the middle of all the gossiping hoards. 

If she did, she never let it seem to bother her. Nothing ever seemed to bother her, except her lost memories. And even then, she was still so hopeful and sweet. 

The thought of Anya made him smile, but he was reminded of her head cold and it made his brow crease with worry. He was positive if Gorlinsky could see him now, he’d have a perplexed look at the comical expression on Gleb’s face. 

“I am doing all that I can to do just that, sir.” Gleb said firmly. “To even think a Romanov could have survived is foolishness.” He grit his teeth and looked back toward the window. 

“You and I both know the truth in the lies, _Vaganov _.” Gorlinsky drew out Gleb’s last name pointedly, and Gleb felt his skin grow clammy as he pictured his father’s face upon returning home that fateful night. “I trust you to do all that you can.”__

____

____

“Yes, sir.” Gleb muttered. “Nothing and no one will distract me from silencing this.” 

“Good.” Gorlisnky said, and then the line went dead. 

Gleb returned the phone to the cradle. He replayed their conversation in his head, part of him mentally kicking himself for making a stupid joke to his commanding officer, but another part of him was focused on the Romanov rumors as well. 

Whispers and gossip on the street was not something he could stop. The people of Leningrad had to keep themselves warm somehow, especially with the warmer days growing scarce with the beginnings of fall. But still, the fact that there were sneaky bad apples running amok in Leningrad unsettled him. 

If only he could proclaim a speech or two about the Romanovs, about his memory of that night, about the certainty that any of them surviving wasn't possible. The people shouldn’t have even been hoping for their survival, given the atrocities they had allowed and the way things had been when they ruled and reigned. Maybe if he scared them straight, they would put it all to rest. 

Still, Gleb knew he could not do that. 

He rose from his chair, abandoning the stack of new reports and the monotonous day of work he had ahead of him. His dark eyes scanned the Nevsky Prospekt as he stood at the window, his eyes searching for the halo of strawberry blonde hair he knew so well. 

Gleb had spotted her that morning on his patrols, but the crowd had been so thick that he could not get to her. Anya had been going the opposite direction, but they had seen each other. She had looked pale, but her smile had been bright. 

He took himself back to the night before, to her laughter and her presence in his home. Gorlinsky had stirred something within Gleb. The picture of Anya as his wife was too beautiful for words. Were she his wife, he would have insisted she stay at home, that she rest. She wouldn’t have even needed to work, unless she wanted to, if she were his wife. He would protect her and take care of her, and neither of them would be alone or afraid ever again. He would love her so dearly that she would forget all about Paris. He longed to take her hand in his own, to drop on one knee before her and promise to give her the world, if she would have him. He longed to shelter her, to give her a place at his side, where they could stand together and watch a new Russia form. A brighter and better Russia.

Gleb felt his face grow hot. He was getting ahead of himself. Much too ahead of himself. 

But still, he was loathe to think of her working out in Leningrad on a cool day after a rain storm, nursing a head cold. He wished he could have offered for her to stay again, but it would have been improper, and they both had their duties to fulfill. 

With a sigh, he looked around the Nevsky Prospekt a moment longer, before turning away. The day could not go by soon quick enough. He longed to be in her presence again. 

But he would just have to wait. 

\--

The storm had passed, but the skies were still grey. 

Anya felt terrible all morning while she worked. But she had comforted herself with the knowledge that she would have been feeling far worse had Gleb not intervened when he had. She was at least thankful she didn’t have a fever any longer, but her body ached with each movement of her broom, and her nose was still rather congested, which caused a headache. 

She had wanted nothing more that morning than to just lay on her mat and sleep the day away. But after what she had heard Diana and Vera say the night before about the Yusupov Palace, she knew she couldn’t waste anymore time. They hadn’t been there when she awoke, much to her surprise. Anya was glad for it, seeing as she didn’t want to slip up and give them cause to suspect her, but also so she would not have to answer any salacious questions they might have had for her about Gleb or her whereabouts. 

Her heart skipped a beat at the thought of Gleb. She had seen him briefly that morning when he had been on his patrols. The crowd was large today, as it usually was a day after it rained, and he hadn’t been able to get to her. 

But she had felt the warmth in his dark eyes across the square, his concern for her evident. She had put on a brave face and smiled brightly at him, hoping he didn’t see the weariness in her expression. Anya had wished she could have crossed the crowd to tell him she was fine, to thank him over and over again for all he had done for her the day before. 

She figured she could that evening, depending on how the rest of her day went. Her usual all day shift had been cut in half, because of her absence the day before. It hadn’t mattered that the storm had still been pouring down on Leningrad, her higher ups had wanted her to show up and be ready to work the moment it had stopped, even if they were just going to send her home because of her cold or another sudden shower. 

Anya tried not to let it upset her, but it just meant that her already meager wages were cut down to an even smaller number. She had tried convincing them of her ailments, tried to show them that it would not hinder her future work ethic. But it hadn’t seemed to matter in the least bit. 

So halfway through her usual day of work, she dropped off her broom and ignored the pointed, teasing smiles of the other street sweepers who had showed up to take over the rest of her shift. She caught trail ends of Gleb’s name, but she ignored them, stomping away with her head held high. 

She had nothing to be ashamed of. She and Gleb did nothing wrong. He had taken in a little nothing shadow like her and shown her his steadfast kindness and warm hospitality. Had he not shown up, she wasn’t so sure she would have made it back to the bridge in one piece. That thought terrified her, and as she passed the street where his building resided, she wished she could have gone straight to him and thanked him over and over all over again. 

But it was a long walk to the Yusupov Palace, and she couldn’t get distracted. 

Part of her wondered if maybe she should tell Gleb where she was going, just in case things went south. But that would mean he would need to know why she was there in the first place, and what she intended to do. 

Anya squashed the idea down in an instant. She could take handle it on her own.

Though she didn’t have a fever anymore, she still felt rather cold. The day wasn't even as chilly as it would be soon, even after a rainstorm. Still, she found herself tightening the belt of her coat and winding her scarf up over her face to ward off the cold. It was a win win situation, especially since she could keep warm while also concealing her face in case anyone passing by noticed her. 

Usually the thought that someone might notice or recognize her was never a concern. But ever since her friendship with Gleb had begun she was usually spared a second glance. It was irritating, to have gone so long on her own without anyone caring whether she lived or died, to now have perfect strangers whispering about her all because of who her one and only friend was. 

Anya hugged her coat tighter around her, frowning at the ground as she walked along the Moika river. The breeze coming off the river was cold, and the people were thankfully fewer. She could see the grand palace looming ahead, it’s bright yellow walls looking dull against the grey skies. 

Her feet carried her to a stop outside the gates. The palace seemed much more imposing, up close. She’d seen it before, many times on her street sweeping shifts, but to stand so close to it now, about to find her way inside, struck her with a haunted sort of feeling. 

The longer she stared at it, the more it became strangely familiar to her. And not in a familiar sort of way that most of Leningrad had become with her long days of street sweeping. No, this was entirely different. A chill not caused by the breeze crawled down her spine as she realized that she had once been within it’s gates when it had been in it’s former glory. 

How, she wouldn’t know, but it was encouragement enough to have her slip through the gates and step into it’s courtyard.

Anya stepped up to the grand front doors, her fingers trembling as she adjusted her scarf, ensuring it was still tucked up around her neck and face. 

Gleb’s warm office and mint tea suddenly sounded heavenly to her. She still had time to turn back now, to just forget all about the travel papers and this Dmitry and the possibility of Paris and just go down the safe route. She could go back to the Singer House, sit and wait at the fountain until that evening when Gleb would come meet her. 

But she couldn’t chicken out. She wouldn’t. Paris was within her reach, and if she let her nerves get to her when she could have easily persuaded this Dmitry to get her travel papers, then she would be terribly unhappy. The thought of the travel papers going to Vera or Diana and not herself made her grit her teeth. That could _not_ happen. Not after all her dreaming. 

Paris made her selfish, and she didn’t seem to care. If her bridge mates were so resourceful, then they could find other ways to get out of Russia. Anya's intentions were much purer than their own. Her family was in Paris. Anya hardly cared about the promise of parties or champagne or anything else her bridge mates might have been seeking. Anya sought her home, her family, and she would not come this close only to lose it to women who took every chance to tease and mock her dreams.

With this newfound determination, Anya walked up to the front of the building. The front doors were boarded up, but that was to be expected when one was poking around an abandoned palace. She peeked through the boards, the cavernous entryway dark and the breeze off the river whistling and echoing through the empty halls. Another tremble ran down her spine, but this time, she chalked it up to the cold, and not any sort of ghostly sensation.

It was so dark inside. Even if it had been a sunny day, Anya could tell it would still appear dark without any lights turned on, given how grand and large it was inside. She stepped back from the doors for a moment, her hands curling and uncurling at her sides. Anya spared a glance over her shoulder, ensuring that no one was still around while she stood there considering how to get inside. She hadn’t thought about what would happen if any officer on patrol walked by and saw her there. And especially if it wasn’t Gleb. 

He would not be happy with her if he knew she was there, but at least she wouldn’t be punished too hard. If another officer found her though, she didn’t even want to think about what would happen. 

She didn’t wait too long to deliberate anymore before she began to feel along the boards, trying to find a way in. She carefully pushed at them until one gave way. In a somewhat domino effect, the rest of the boards collapsed, and she lost her balance and fell forward into the entryway. 

Anya groaned in pain, but pushed herself up to her feet, adjusting her scarf. She gave herself a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dark, moving slowly through the entryway and into the vast variety of hallways and grand rooms. From somewhere far away, she could hear voices, and as dark as everything was, she forced her feet to head into the direction of where they were coming from. 

Anya could barely make out any of the features of the old palace, but what she could see was haunting and opulent. An eerie sensation of being watched seemed to follow her, but she didn't even need to look over her shoulder to know that she was very much alone. She kept going, though her curiosity was peaked here and there when the grey light from outside filtered in through the boarded up windows to reveal its finery. 

She walked for what felt like an eternity. It felt like she would never reach the source of the voices, but she didn’t fear getting lost. Somehow, Anya knew where she was, and where she was going, though she didn’t know how. “Muscle memory.” She murmured to herself, not bothering to ask how or why. As she turned a corner, the breath left her lungs at the sight of a grand ballroom. 

The ballroom was grand and beautiful, though by the broken glass and dust and grime, she knew it was nothing as it had been in its former glory. Still, she left her path and descended the stairs, looking all around at the grand painted walls and ceilings, and the crystal chandeliers. In her mind’s eye, she could see bright lights, sparkling diamonds, hear the sound of music and laughter and voices calling for her with a name she couldn’t recognize. 

She had been here before. Or at least, she had dreamed of this place before. 

Anya could hear whispers, nothing like the scattered voices she had been originally following. No, this was something else entirely. The sounds seemed to bounce off of the walls in a way that she knew wasn't the wind or even her footsteps. 

Her eyes closed, and she listened intently as the whispering voices began to shift. Her hands clasped around the necklace at her throat, and she felt a faint tug on her chest as a ghostly song weaved its way through her mind, the whispering voices beginning to vocalize along. It was the same tune she had warmed herself with nightly, the same tune she had woken in the hospital hearing in the back of her mind. One voice stuck out amongst the array of voices she could hear, a shaking, warm voice. Anya strained to make out the words. Though they were blurred and faint the melody was clear. Anya hummed quietly under her breath, her feet carrying her across the dance floor. 

She was dancing, her eyes closed, but her mind a million miles away. She could see those ghostly figures from her dreams, could feel their warm touch and hear their mixed voices. They were reaching for her, like they did in her dreams, but they never touched her. Much like the aftereffects of her dreams, she couldn’t identify them, couldn’t do anything but watch them glide past her and listen to the haunting melody that came to her each night. 

“Hear this song and remember…” She whispered, her eyes flying open as she spun into the banister of the stairs on the opposite end of the ballroom. It was enough to jolt her back to reality. Anya blushed, embarrassed despite having no audience. She looked around the ballroom, the voices and figures gone as though they'd never been there to begin with. And it was ironic, really, because they _hadn't_ ever been there to begin with as it was. 

Anya shook her head and laughed quietly to herself. “This place…” She gave the ballroom one last look before turning and going up the stairs. “Like some sort of…memory…from my dreams.” She was off her initial course, and probably should have crossed the ballroom again to get back on track, but somehow, she knew she could find where she needed to go by simply going this way instead. She took one last lingering look at the ballroom before turning down the hall, her hands dropping from her broken necklace to fall at her sides. Her eyes lifted, and she found there was a source of light coming from the far end of the hall. She sighed, remembering why she was there and what her goal was, and hurried her steps.

As she got closer to where the light was coming from, Anya was momentarily distracted by a few untouched paintings that lined the walls. The faces were unrecognizable, of course, but they were beautiful. The longer Anya stared into their eyes, the more certain she was that she had been there before, that she might have known these beautifully painted figures. But, she was also struck by the familiarity to these faces, to these dangerously familiar eyes. Anya shook her head, feeling foolish for letting the grand palace have such an effect on her. But, still, there was something...

A woman’s overdramatic voice rang out down the hall, and Anya was startled out of her thoughts. Shaking herself, she tore herself away from the painting and continued down the hall. From behind a closed door, she could continue to hear a woman's overdramatic voice, and the low grumble of two men as well.

“We’ll let you know…” An older man’s voice hummed after a moment of silence. 

“Come on, Martha, that means ‘no!’” A woman’s voice huffed. 

Anya stilled, her heart skipping a beat as she recognized Diana’s voice call out. She ducked back against a corner as footsteps came near and the door was thrown open. She barely had time to hold her scarf to her face before her fellow bridge mates walked past her, shaking their heads in contempt. For a moment, Anya thought Diana’s gaze had passed over her, but much to her relief, they continued on as if she was part of the wallpaper.

“What you’re doing is illegal, you know!” Another voice said. Martha, Anya assumed, the third person in their group. Anya slipped out of her dark corner, but kept her eyes on the women walking down the hall, watching as they took a left down another hall, away from the ballroom Anya had come from. “If you weren’t so handsome, Dmitry, I’d report you! I would, I would!” 

“Out, out!” The older man’s voice exclaimed, and Anya barely had time to get out of the way before the woman stormed past her. 

“Watch out for those two, honey.” She chided Anya, sending her a glare. Anya felt her heart leap into her throat, her hands still clutching at her scarf. Since Martha didn’t know her, there was no fear of the woman recognizing her. But if she knew Vera and Diana, all it would take was one brief description and her bridge mates would know that Anya had been there. 

Or worse, a description to an officer. 

Anya just nodded, though the woman didn’t bother waiting for her response. She watched her turn the corner to follow after Vera and Diana, jabbering away angrily. Anya waited until their voices faded away before approaching the door they had come from. "Here goes nothing." She whispered to herself, preparing herself to do whatever it took to convince Dmitry to give her the travel papers. She gave the pendant around her neck one last squeeze before Anya gathered her courage and stepped around the corner and headed toward where they had come from. She was surprised to find herself on what looked to be a stage. 

The first person she saw was who she assumed to be the owner of the older voice. A tall, older gentleman stood in the middle of the stage, his posture defensive and his hands outstretched as though ready to pounce on whoever was intruding.

Anya didn’t let it scare her, though. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” She unwound her scarf and gave the older man a kind smile, eyeing his scraggly beard and bespectacled face. He appeared homeless, like her, like so many others, but he didn’t look threatening at all. If anything there was an air of propriety in his posture as he stood upright, almost as if he was from another world than the one they were living in. 

“It’s quite alright, young lady. It’s easy to be spooked in a place like this.” He chuckled in a warm voice.

Anya nodded, and got straight to the point. “I’m looking for Dmitry. Are you Dmitry?”

He looked over her shoulder. “The one with the chair over his head is Dmitry.” His voice held the tremblings of an amused laugh. “You must forgive him, he can’t be too careful.” 

Anya spun around to find a tall, almost handsome man standing behind her, a chair held up over his head. She took a step back in surprise, hands lifting in a defensive position. A gasp parted her lips as she recognized his face. He had been the one to knock into her, the one to ruin Vera's book, the one to run away without even a glance back at her, let alone an apology. A flare of contempt arose within her, and she shot him an irritated look as he continued to frown down at her, chair held high. In return, he looked her up and down, shock crossing his face as he recognized her before it turned back into that defensive frown. She forced herself to stay levelheaded. If this was the Dmitry who could get her to Paris, she would do her best not to let his former actions taint the task at hand. 

“Dmitry!” The older man exclaimed. “Put the chair down, it’s just a girl.” 

“Vlad, she’s dangerous!” Dmitry exclaimed. 

“Excuse me?” Anya blanched and took a step back. “I’m not the one with a chair over my head or a track record of knocking girls to the ground.” 

The older man, apparently Vlad, shot her an amused glance before stepping in front of her, protecting her from Dmitry and his chair. “What’s gotten into you?”

“I’ve seen her before.” Dmitry said, his frown deepening as Vlad reached up and snatched the chair out of his hands. His angry expression didn’t change, though. “You’re the little street sweeper whose boyfriend is with the police.” 

Anya felt her cheeks enflame, but before she could explain herself, Vlad bent over and laughed. “Look whose paranoid!” He ruffled Dmitry’s feather like hair and then turned to smile down at Anya. “I’m sorry miss, it’s been a long, frustrating day and I’m sure my friend is mistaking you for someone else.” 

Anya chewed on her lower lip. “He’s not.” She looked at Dmitry with a sheepish smile. “While he’s not my boyfriend, Deputy Commissioner Gleb Vaganov _is_ my friend.” _The only friend I have,_ she thought to herself. 

“See, Vlad!” Dmitry exclaimed. Vlad’s compassionate expression turned guarded and uncertain. “She’s probably been sent to lure us out into his awaiting firing squad!” 

"Well...we've gotten out of that sort of situation before, who's to say we can't again?" Vlad chuckled awkwardly. 

Anya rolled her eyes. “Boy, you sure jump to conclusions!” She looked back at Vlad. “He doesn’t even know I’m here, I swear it. I wouldn’t do that to you.” She smiled. “Why would I when you’re probably the only ones who can help me?” 

“Why should we believe you?” Dmitry huffed. 

“Calm down, Dmitry, calm down.” Vlad sighed, and Anya noted how tired his expression was. She wondered when the last time he’d had a full night of sleep was. She eyed Dmitry out of the corner of her eye and smiled wanly. It had probably been a good while. 

“Let’s give her the benefit of the doubt, hm?” Vlad sank into the chair Dmitry had previously been holding up above her head, and gave her a weary smile. “What do you think we can help you with, my dear?”

Anya collected herself, her gloved fingers lacing together as she stepped closer. “I was told you were the ones to talk to about exit papers.”

“By who?” Dmitry demanded, which earned him an irritated wave of Vlad’s hand. 

“Whispers on the street.” Anya shrugged. “I’ve also heard borders are going to be closing left and right, and that soon no one will be able to get out of Russia. Hence why I’m here.” The two men eyed her warily, and her cheeks felt hot again as she looked down at her boots. “That tidbit _was_ provided by my friend, if you must know.” 

She peeked up to find Vlad eyeing her with interest and Dmitry’s expression softening just slightly. 

“When?” Dmitry asked quietly. 

“A few months.” Anya supplied. “Before spring, I would guess.” 

“Can’t you find out for sure?” Dmitry crossed his arms over his chest. “If we’re going to help you, maybe you can use your friend’s intel for our advantage.” 

“And have the Bolsheviks come down on us?” Vlad huffed. “No, no, Dmitry. Her friend is no doubt a trained spy. He’ll suspect something if she pokes around.” Vlad looked up at her, and she nodded in confirmation. 

“If that’s true, then how do we know he hasn’t followed you here?” Dmitry demanded. 

“He didn’t.” Anya murmured. “He doesn’t even know I’m here. Or you, as far as I know.” She almost told him how half a year of his friendship told her enough about his patterns, how he swore never to follow her, but decided they probably wouldn’t believe her or care. 

Vlad ignored Dmitry’s demands and looked at Anya warmly. “Where is it you want to go, my dear?” 

Anya dropped her hands at her sides, turning away from them in a little spin. “I’d like to go to Paris.” 

“You’d like to go to Paris?” Dmitry asked, half with interest and half with disbelief. Anya did a slow turn to face them and nodded. “Well…exit papers _are_ expensive.”

“I have some money saved.” She started. “Plus, I’m a hard worker, if that counts for anything. In Odessa I washed dishes and in Perm I worked in the hospital.” Anya smiled proudly, though she forced herself to be still once she heard how desperate her own voice sounded when she spoke. 

“Odessa? Perm? We’re an awful long way from either places.” Dmitry chuckled, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“I know. I walked from there to here.” Anya looked between the two men, noting the disbelief in Dmitry’s face and the kindness in Vlad’s as he watched the exchange. 

“What are you running from, little girl?” Dmitry asked. 

Anya frowned at Dmitry, irritating boiling under her skin. “I’m not a little girl.” She said firmly. “And it’s more like I’m running to someone, not from.” Though, she realized with surprise, she realistically _could_ have been running from someone, she just wouldn’t know it. 

“Who?” Vlad asked curiously.

“I…I don’t know.” Anya said sheepishly, her hands going to the broken necklace around her neck. “What I do know is that someone is waiting for me in Paris. Can you get me there?”

Dmitry stepped forward and she felt her face flush as he eyed her necklace. She clutched it tight in her fist, glaring up at him as he leaned toward her. “You sound like quite a resourceful girl, if not rather crazy. In fact, you don’t even need us to get to Paris. There’s a river right outside, you know. Just jump in and start swimming!” 

"I'm not crazy!" Anya glared at him. “You’re awfully rude.” She huffed, crossing her arms over her chest as she moved away from his mocking smile. She stared down at her shoes, the dusty stage lights catching her attention. 

“Don’t be so sour, Dmitry.” Vlad said gruffly. “I’m sorry, dear.” He said, though her eyes were now looking out into the theater. Anya was struck by the vast room, the grey light from outside filtering in and casting a ghostly appearance to what must have been a grand theater at one point. “It’s been a long day of looking for someone who may not even exist any longer.” 

“Who?” Anya asked distantly, her mind a whirl of dim memories. 

“Why, the Grand Duchess Anastasia Nikolaevna Romanov herself.” Vlad hummed. “Her grandmother is looking for her and the two of us thought we’d reunite the lost royal family. You must have heard the rumors on the streets.”

“I can’t say that I have.” Anya vaguely shook her head as she looked around, the ghosts of the past seeming to appear again in the darkness of the decaying theater. She could see figures sitting in the seats, hear their laughter and their applause. She pressed a hand to her chest, her necklace suddenly seeming so icy against her skin. “I’ve been in this room before.” She gasped. Where the ballroom had seemed straight out of her dreams, this theater seemed like a ghostly memory. “I’ve been _here_ before.” 

“What?” Dmitry scoffed in disbelief. "Vlad, she's going to faint on us!" Anya heard a chair scrape and a strong hand clasped around her arm and guided her down until she was sitting. 

“She’s awfully pale.” Vlad said, his scruffy beard and bespectacled face swimming into her vision. “Dear, when did you eat last?” 

Anya was lost in a dim memory, the words spilling out before she even knew where they were coming from. “Everyone was so beautifully dressed. The music was loud but the play was funny. Mama said not to tug on my dress, but it itched so…” 

She vaguely heard Vlad demand that Dmitry get her some water and cheese. In an instant, the memories faded and Anya was brought back to reality. She looked around her, the images gone as quickly as they'd appeared. She turned her head to find Vlad crouched beside her, rolling his eyes at Dmitry’s retreating form. 

“You seem to be a gentleman.” Anya murmured queitly. “Even if your friend is not.” 

Vlad snickered. “A gentleman? I’ve not heard anyone call me that in a long, long time.” He shook his head and smiled thinly. “Life has not been kind to Dmitry. I am sorry for his behavior, nonetheless.”

“Life has not been kind to _any_ of us.” Anya mumbled, just as Dmitry reappeared with a glass of water and a slice of cheese. "Thank you." She looked up at him with a grateful expression. 

“You’ve been here before?” Dmitry asked dimly. 

Anya felt her face flush, and she looked down at the water in the glass for a moment. “I don’t know. I don’t know _how_ I could have ever been here. But…” She shrugged vaguely. "It's familiar." 

Both men backed off, and she glanced at them as they whispered to each other. Once the cheese was gone and the water half drunk, Anya felt a little better than she had before, and the room didn’t seem so dark. The memories weren’t coming back though, despite her inspection of the theater. Perhaps she was mistaken. Perhaps she had let Gleb’s book of fairytales get the better of her. 

There could be no way she had been in this palace before, especially as a guest. 

Maybe she _was_ crazy. 

“So, Paris, huh?” Dmitry asked, coming to stand over her. Anya nodded, trailing her fingers over the cup in her hands. “Convenient coincidence, since that’s exactly where we were planning on going. It’s where the Dowager Empress is, after all.” 

Anya nodded distantly. She sat up straighter, wondering what she would need to do to convince them. Perhaps it was just a money situation. If Vera and Diana and their friend Martha hadn’t had enough for exit papers, perhaps what Anya had saved would make up for it. The diamonds in her pocket suddenly felt heavy, and she considered not for the first time in her miserable life how much she could get if she sold one of her only links to the past. “And you wish to return…who again…to her?” 

Dmitry smacked his hand against his forehead. “I thought you said she was a street sweeper, Dmitry.” Vlad said with a chuckle. He crossed his arms over his chest and looked back down at her. “If you’re on the streets daily, how do you not hear the rumors of St. Petersburg?”

Anya smiled as Gleb’s voice entered her head, correcting St. Petersburg to ‘Leningrad’. “I suppose I just tune it out. It’s all just gossip, nothing more. And besides, my focus is my work.” 

“Your boyfriend doesn’t even tell you about them?” Dmitry asked curiously. 

“He’s _not_ my boyfriend.” She said again, her cheeks growing hot. “And no. He probably assumes I hear it while I work, just as you thought.” 

Dmitry hummed. “Well. We _do_ have exit papers. But only three. And the third is for the Grand Duchess, who needs to be returned to her grandmother, in Paris.” 

Anya felt her heart sink. “Well, I’m not her.” She was no more a Grand Duchess than the women under the bridge. If they were only giving their third bundle of exit papers to the Grand Duchess, they would not find it in her. She stood up, holding the glass out to Dmitry. 

“Just who are you, exactly?” Vlad asked curiously. “I realized we don’t even know your name.” 

Her cheeks colored again. “I don’t know what my name is either.” She was suddenly brought back to the first time she’d said that, how Gleb had smiled at her and looked at her in disbelief. Vlad had a patient expression, but Dmitry outright laughed. Anya shrunk back. 

“You _don’t know_?” Dmitry chortled. 

“Well…” She shook her head. “I woke up in a hospital nine years ago with no memories, no idea who I am or who I belonged to. But…the nurses gave me the name ‘Anya’.” 

“Anya.” Dmitry tested, and he gave her a smile that she wasn’t sure was mocking or genuine. She noted how his voice dropped with interest, the mocking smile wiped clean off. “What do you mean by no memories?”

“Exactly what I said.” She replied. “I have no idea who I was before that day I awoke in the hospital." She looked down at her necklace, holding it out for them to see the inscription. "I woke up with this. It's the only thing I have from my life before." The diamonds in her pockets seemed heavier all of a sudden, but she continued on. "All I've known is my dreams, my heart, everything in me, has been pointing me to Paris for as long as I can remember. And this solidifies that." 

The men were silent, staring at her for a long time. Dmitry gaped at her, the corners of his lips twitching as he fought back a grin. It was Vlad who made her the most uncomfortable with his stare, though. It was almost as if he was seeing someone else entirely in her, almost as if he knew more about her than she knew of herself. She cowered from their glances, looking down at her shoes again in quiet anxiety. 

“How utterly convenient.” Dmitry finally said, his voice a bright sound in the loud silence. She looked up at them again, Vlad turning away and brushing his fingers over his beard, while Dmitry’s dark eyes held an interested gleam as he inspected her face. “I’d say we found our Grand Duchess, Vlad.” 

"Yes, Dmitry, I'd say we had." Vlad's voice was quiet, and serious.

Anya laughed outright, and took a step back. “I just told you-”

“That you have no idea who you are and that you want to go to Paris.” Vlad pointed out gently, turning back to her with a kind smile. “You’re looking for your family, perhaps in Paris. Her only family is in Paris!” 

Anya pressed her fingers to her forehead. “Are…are you really trying to tell me you think _I’m_ the Grand Duchess?” She laughed. “Now _that_ is crazy!”

“Why is that crazy?” Dmitry held his hands out at his sides. “No one knows what happened to her all those years ago, and _you_ have no idea where you came from.”

Anya laughed again in disbelief. “You can’t _possibly_ think that _I’m_ royalty!”

“Maybe not now, but you might have been! Especially if you say you’ve been _here_ before!” He gestured to the theater. Dmitry clapped his hands together. “This could work!” He leaned toward her again and inspected her face, his eyes narrowing. “Your eyes could even pass for Romanov eyes!” 

“Hardly.” Anya laughed, though now she wondered if the eyes in the portraits in the hall had only been familiar to her because they resembled her own. 

“Why is it so hard to believe?” Vlad asked gently. “You look to be the age she would be now. And while I hate to admit it, Dmitry is right. You have Romanov eyes.” 

“Vlad would know.” Dmitry supplied, clapping the older man on the back. “We are in the presence of a former member of the Imperial Guard.” He grinned cheekily. 

“Then look at me, Vlad.” Anya said, holding her arms out at her sides. “Do I look like Grand Duchess material to you?”

Vlad adjusted his glasses. “The last time I saw any of the Romanov children, they were quite young. I may not ever be able to forget their young faces, but I would never know how they could look today, as adults.” Vlad’s lips thinned briefly before he was grinning from ear to ear. “But I see a look, Anya, in your eyes that I’ve seen in theirs before. You could very well be the Grand Duchess Anastasia.” 

Anya laughed in disbelief, but the more they spoke, the more reasonable of an idea it seemed. She had no idea who she had been nine years ago when she’d awoken in the hospital. Perhaps there was a real possibility that her family had been this royal family. But it seemed so ridiculous, she couldn’t help but shake her head. 

“It’s hard to picture yourself as royalty when you’re sleeping under a bridge. When you’ve been alone for so long, fending for yourself…it’s just…not realistic.” She smiled distantly and looked down at her lap, her mind wandering to the fairytales she loved so much. “I suppose every lonely girl wishes she was a princess.” 

"And somewhere one lonely girl _is_." Vlad said quietly. 

Her cheeks grew warm from the possibility. Anya didn't want the grand palace or their suggestions to get to her. It seemed so far fetched. And yet... “I suppose it’s possible. _Maybe._ ” She furrowed her brows, hardly able to believe that she was actually in agreement with them. To entertain this idea of her lost background to be rooted in royalty seemed like a childish notion. But still, if she really had been in this room before, if she recognized her eyes in a portrait of a royal family, then what if? “I don’t know.” 

“Perhaps all we need is to brush up on your Russian history. That could possibly jog your memory, my dear.” Vlad said with a bright smile. “We can work with you for a while, help you learn facts and names and such, as if you were Anastasia. If we get to Paris and the Dowager Empress sees you and says you’re not her long lost granddaughter, then at least we would have gotten you to Paris. And if you are the lost princess…well…” Vlad smiled wider, almost tearfully. “I suppose we can go from there.” 

“But what if I’m not?” Anya asked desperately. “I want to get to Paris more than anything, but I don’t know if I’m comfortable lying about who I am to do it!” 

“Don’t even think of it as lying. It’s like Vlad said! The Dowager Empress would be able to recognize her favorite grandchild. And worst case, you’re not her, but we will be out of Russia before the borders close!” Dmitry said cheerfully. 

Vlad swept forward, taking her hand in his and giving her an encouraging smile. “But, my dear, if you _are_ Anastasia…then you can finally know who you are and have your family back!” He exclaimed. 

“He’s right!” Dmitry shrugged. “Either way it gets you to Paris.” 

“I suppose so.” Anya murmured. She gave a short laugh and shook her head at herself. "Why the hell not?" She whispered, pressing her hand to her lips before looking up at them with a hopeful smile. “I do this, and you’ll get me to Paris. I have your word.” 

“Yes, my dear.” Vlad squeezed her hand and released it. “You have our word.” 

Anya beamed at them both, even Dmitry with his mocking smile. She was going to Paris. These men were going to get her to Paris. But her excitement didn’t last too long as she realized she now would need to learn, or relearn, Russian history, along with facts about the royal family. Her possible family. It was a slim chance, but it was still a chance. Her heart pounded. 

“It’s just…how do you become someone you’ve forgotten you ever were? If I was even her to begin with!” 

“That’s what we’re here for.” Dmitry smiled, this time encouragingly, much to her surprise. 

“If I can learn to do it, you can learn to do it.” Vlad smiled, producing a leather bound notebook from within his coat pocket. He held it out to her, and she took it carefully. “Now, you were born in a palace by the sea…”

“A palace by the sea.” Dmitry confirmed when Anya looked at him in confusion. 

She took a deep breath. “Could it be?”

 

\--

 

The first day of lessons proved that this whole plan would be quite the challenge. Anya was suddenly expected to memorize facts and dates about people she’d never known, or perhaps _might_ have known, all the while pretending as though she was someone else entirely. 

Vlad was a kind old soul that was a patient and encouraging teacher. Dmitry, on the other hand, liked to get a rise out of her. Even when she knew the answers she gave to certain questions were correct, he’d snidely tell her how wrong she was. 

Dmitry was irritating, but he was getting her to Paris. She had put up with far worse for much less. 

And besides, it was a challenge. She found herself wanting to prove him wrong, which only made her devote herself to the cause even harder. 

Gleb would be proud of her, for devoting herself so diligently to something. But he could never know. The rumors on the streets apparently held very little weight, but to even suggest a Romanov was still alive and out there was enough to put a person in hot water. 

Perhaps the rising in the rumors was what had been causing Gleb so much stress with his duties. If a Romanov was alive, that would threaten his entire new order he loved so much, wouldn’t it? An heir to the Russian throne meant going back to how things once were. But would it be so bad? If there was a Romanov still alive, given that it wasn’t her, would it all be so bad? Maybe they could see the error of the old ways, could make a change that would make everyone happy, even the Bolsheviks. 

Anya hardly had time to think of politics or even Gleb, with all the books and array of facts on a chalk board that Vlad and Dmitry whipped up for her. 

They’d spent that first afternoon so busy, that when evening had come, Anya had no other thoughts but food and sleep. Thankfully, the men offered for her to seek shelter with them in the palace, where there would be a warm fire in the deserted kitchens. Anya had been too tired to refuse, and after a warm bowl of beans, she fell asleep almost instantly against a sack of lentils. 

Her internal clock awoke her early the next morning. Her body ached from the odd sleeping position she’d been in against the bag of lentils again, but the promise of Paris made her alert and ready to start her day of sweeping, so she could hurry back to the palace and get back to studying. 

She straightened her clothes and adjusted her hair and slipped out of the palace to start her day of street sweeping. She had explained to Dmitry and Vlad the night before that she would need to keep up with her work, if she was going to pay them back for the exit papers. They had been in agreement, the two of them having their own things to do. And besides, there was still a risk of someone noticing their presence in the abandoned palace. It was better to make themselves scarce during the day.

Though Anya didn’t ask. It was clear they hadn’t acquired the exit papers in any sort of legal way, just as she had assumed. But they were kind, and nothing like the brutish figures her mind had conjured up when she’d first heard Vera and Diana talking. 

And they were getting her to Paris!

After she’d picked up her broom, she got to work. Her head still ached with congestion, but the most of the pain had passed. It didn't hinder her progress in her street sweeping. In fact, the promise of Paris and the content feeling that came with the realization that it was _actually_ happening gave her the energy to work extra hard. The sun was high in the sky by the time she reached the middle of the Nevsky Prospekt, which was her most challenging part of the day. Sidestepping past bustling people was never easy, and because of the storm the days before, today was no picnic either. 

She looked up to sidestep a pair of girls when her eyes landed on a few officers on patrol. She froze, and her heart sank. _Gleb._

Anya, who usually kept her head down and her focus on her work, frantically looked around for any sign of her friend. He was nowhere to be seen. The podium he was wont to give speeches at was empty, and despite the other officers here and there, there was a general peace about the people passing her by that signified that he hadn’t made an appearance. 

His office was just up the street. She eyed the large gray building with disdain. She loathed getting near the building, let alone going inside. That one day he had offered her tea that early morning was the last time she’d been inside. He had been boasting about finally moving into his new office, had been longing for her to see it. But the building was intimidating and there were too many eyes, and it made it harder for her to separate Gleb the man from Gleb the Bolshevik officer. 

Anya swallowed thickly, and returned to her work, unconsciously drawing nearer to the building and looking around more than she usually did. Part of her wondered if he was on another patrol today, or simply busy in his office. She considered going inside and asking someone where he was, though the thought brought her more anxiety than simply walking past it. As she swept closer to the building, she looked up at it, inspecting the large windows above her in case she caught a glimpse of him. 

A flash at one window caught her eye, but when she looked towards it, no one was there. Anya chewed on her lip, debating whether or not she should go inside, when the doors burst open and Gleb appeared. 

“Anya!” He exclaimed, out of breath as he skidded to a stop in front of her. “You’re alright!” 

Anya laughed softly, despite herself. “Of course I’m alright. Why wouldn’t I be?” She asked teasingly. 

“Well.” He gave her a serious look. “I haven’t seen you since yesterday morning. And when I last saw you, you were sick and I…I thought something might have happened to you.” Gleb stammered. 

“Oh!” She felt a cold sweat forming on the back of her neck. “My shifts have been cut in half thanks to the rain. Apparently that day I was sick, they were still expecting me to show up even if they would just send me home because of the weather.” Anya rolled her eyes, and waved her hand. “Nonetheless, I took advantage of it yesterday and went straight home to rest up. I feel much better now.” 

Technically it wasn’t all a lie. Her higher ups _had_ been holding back her usual shift, and she did feel much better, but it still wasn’t the whole truth. She instantly realized just how hard this would all be, if it meant lying to him like this. Gleb didn’t deserve that. He deserved the truth. And yet…the medals on his chest that gleamed in the early afternoon sunlight proved to her exactly why she needed to keep her mouth shut. 

He still looked concerned, but relief quickly passed its way across his face. “And to think I was worried.” Gleb laughed. “Though why should I, when you’re quite capable of looking after yourself, hm?” 

“Oh, Gleb.” Anya rolled her eyes. “Had it not been for you coming to my rescue in that rainstorm, I would have been far worse off! You have no idea how grateful I am that you swept in when you did.” Her cheeks grew pink, and she tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. 

“Of course, Anya.” He murmured with a smile. “Though, I am rather upset with your work. To punish you for something you can’t control is just ridiculous!” His voice raised ever so slightly. “You know, my friend, I’m sure I could find you a better position elsewhere.” He folded his hands behind his back. “Perhaps even one with room and board, or even-”

“Gleb.” Anya rested her palm on his chest, her heart leaping from the concern in his voice. “I appreciate you looking out for me, you know I do. But please, I’m quite alright.” She promised. “I can rescue myself sometimes, you know.” 

“I know.” He said quietly, ducking his chin down into his chest, his eyes dropping to her hand. “Forgive me, for overstepping.” 

She let her hand drop, and if she saw reluctance on his face at the action, she pretended not to notice. “You didn’t.” She smiled warmly up at him. “It’s nice to have someone who worries about me.” 

Gleb pressed his hand over his heart and bent his head down into a short nod before her. “Of course. You shall always have that in me.” He chuckled.

That dreaded anxiety came over her again, but she did her best not to let it show. She tilted her head to the side and studied him, before looking back down at her broom. “I’d better get back to work.” She said sullenly. “While I still have a job.” She half joked. 

“Same goes for me.” Gleb glanced back at his building. “I just…saw you from my office window and I… kind of just rushed out. Probably looked like a madman.” He bent his head down toward her again as something seemed to strike him. “Is there anyone in the window behind me now?” 

Anya giggled and looked over his shoulder, finding a few officers and secretaries peering down at them. Her smile faded as they stared, and she coughed awkwardly, giving him a brief nod. Anxiety rolled in her stomach again. She felt as if they could read it plainly on her face, what she was doing. She felt as though they would tell Gleb. 

But that was ridiculous. They had no idea, and neither did Gleb. 

Anya smiled thinly up at him, and he reached out and gave her arm a squeeze, sensing her unease. “Will I see you tonight?”

She nodded at him, before remembering she was meant to return to the palace for more lessons. But it would end up working out, she thought. The bridge she and Gleb parted at each night was in the same direction she needed to go. So long as Gleb’s worry for her didn’t overrule his promise not to follow her, everything should have been fine. 

“Yes.” She nodded at him. “My higher ups seem to think I’ve learned my lesson, so my shifts should hopefully go on as usual from now on. Just don’t pray for rain anytime soon.” She snickered. 

Gleb laughed. “Well, if a rainstorm means enjoying your company, you can’t fault me for doing exactly that.” He teased. 

Anya beamed up at him. “Yes, I’ve been sorely missing the taste of our burned stroganoff.” She poked her finger into his chest. “You weren’t kidding.”

“I wasn’t!” He exclaimed. “I told you it would be awful!” 

“And I was no help at all.” Anya gripped her broom tightly. 

“I guess that means we will just have to try again another night.” Gleb said invitingly, and Anya felt her cheeks grow warm again. She suppressed a huge smile, the thought of his warm home and his laughter and music crossing her mind again. 

But then she took in a deep breath, and felt her pendant against her heart, and remembered Paris. Dmitry and Vlad were going to get her to Paris. Her dreams were becoming a reality. As much as she wanted to daydream about Gleb and his friendship, she couldn’t let herself be distracted any longer. Not when she was so close to finally getting the answers to everything she had always wondered.

“I suppose so.” She said playfully, though her heart was now a thousand miles away. “I’ll see you tonight, my friend. I promise.” 

“Tonight.” He beamed at her, and Anya felt a twinge of pain squeeze at her heart. How many more evenings would she have with him, before she was on her way to Paris? Anya had had half a year with him, almost a full year in a few months, and now she couldn’t imagine her life without him. 

Would she really be able to just up and leave him? She had always dreamed of Paris, but deep down, she never really thought she would make it. It had taken her nine long years to walk across Russia, the latter part of them had been spent in Leningrad, working her fingers to the bone and sleeping under a bridge. 

Gleb was the only bright spot in all of that time, and now, she was finally reaching her dreams, but at what cost?

Anya watched him walk back to his building, all the while peeking over his shoulder at her and still wearing that beaming smile of his.

“Am I really going to desert you?” She gasped, lifting her hand in a little wave and smiling, despite the knot forming in her throat. “How can I?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay for story progression! 
> 
> I've been listening to a recording of the Broadway show along with rewatching scenes from the movie to try and get this to come out correctly. I'm a pro at overthinking, so I stared at this chapter for a good long while trying to get it to flow and progression exactly right. 
> 
> I just want to say thank you for all the kind responses to this little story of mine. Every time I update I get this twinge of fear that I'm going to get a rude, negative review and ya'll always come through with such kindness! I'm sure as things get angstier that may not always be the case, baha, but I do appreciate it more than you all know. 
> 
> Still, I love having an open dialogue about things that may not make sense or suggestions and whatnot. I definitely appreciate any reviews or constructive criticism, so as always, feel free to send them my way! 
> 
> Thank you again! <3


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A door is closed in Anya's life, and not under the best circumstances. Vlad convinces Dmitry to trust Anya, and in doing so, the two begin to learn a little more about each other and reach a better understanding of one another.

It had been nearly three weeks since she had last been here. It was surprising, really, how quickly the days had passed since she had been shivering on the cold stone, her only companions being the women of the night who also sought shelter with her. Her street sweeping shift had taken her past her old bridge where she used to sleep, and Anya had remembered Gleb’s gift to her from the beginning of their friendship had been left behind. It might have been a long shot that it would still be where she left it, but she couldn't chance it still being there, waiting for her to come back. So she found herself pausing in her work to slip beneath the bridge to inspect her old stomping grounds. She had been rather surprised to find her mat and thin blanket exactly where she’d left it, the book tucked safely beneath it. No one else had been around, and Anya had been bending to gather it when Vera appeared out of nowhere. 

Anya jumped in surprise, but managed a smile for her former bridge mate. "Hello, Vera." 

“We were wondering when you would come back.” She replied. The woman in question stepped closer to Anya’s bent form, the stench of cigarette smoke invading her senses. Anya couldn’t help but crinkle her nose. _That_ was certainly one thing she hadn’t missed. She tried not to glare as Vera flicked ash off her cigarette. “ _What_ have you been up to, little Anya?” She asked with a slow, teasing smile. 

Anya sensed her double meaning behind the somewhat simple question, and her cheeks grew warm. “I’ve taken up with some friends. Some work friends.” 

“Friends?” Vera chuckled in disbelief. “I’ve never seen you speak to another soul. Well. Except that handsome officer friend of yours.” Vera gasped, grinning broadly at her. “Unless, that’s who-”

Anya stood up straight, her face red and hot as she clutched Gleb's book at her side. “Of course not!” She exclaimed, embarrassment overtaking her as she looked down, shifting from foot to foot. 

“Oh, don’t be embarrassed! I wouldn’t blame you, of course, if you had. He’s quite a dish. I wouldn't come back here either if I had him keeping me warm on these cold nights. And the nights will only get colder, you know. I can applaud you for finally seeing the light.” Vera took another drag from her cigarette, and Anya coughed from the smoke. If Anya really was who Vlad and Dmitry said she could be, then Anya could have snapped at Vera for having the audacity to smoke in her presence, along with making such sordid accusations. Just to try and see how it felt. If it was a familiar sensation, then maybe it meant she really was _her._ Anya decided to save that for another time, wanting to cut this trip as short as possible. 

If it was possible, Anya’s face grew hotter. “Vera, it’s not like that at all. I’d never…stoop to that level.” 

Vera flinched. “And what level is that, little Miss Anya? Our level?” She flicked more ash off of her cigarette, this time, letting it land near Anya’s boot. 

Anya shook her head quickly. “That’s not what I meant. I just mean that he’s been too good a friend for me to use him like that.”

“No, I’m sure you said exactly what you meant as you always do.” Vera sneered. “You’ve always had such airs about you, for someone who sleeps under a bridge with prostitutes.” She snorted. “What makes you any grander than us, hm?”

Anya avoided her gaze, chewing on her lip anxiously. “Nothing, Vera. I’m sorry. Forget I said anything.” She shrugged her shoulders, her mind formulating an excuse before she knew it. “I’ve not been in the best mood today. They’re trying to withhold my wages again, you see, and I’m so hungry today-”

“You’ll get no pity from me, little miss.” Vera snapped. “If I had a handsome officer being so kind to me every day, I wouldn’t let any airs stop me from letting him spoil me. You’re a fool, Anya. A pretty little fool, to think you’ll make it on your own.” Vera glared at her, and Anya fought back the urge to ask what happened to the officer who _had been_ being so kind to Vera. “A woman does what she needs to do in order to survive. If you think that officer will be content to simply be your friend forever, then you haven’t opened your eyes. He looks at you like he yearns for you, little Anya, don’t you see that? He will take what he wants eventually. All men do. Especially one with power like he has.”

Anya shrunk back, the image of Gleb that Vera was painting seeming so monstrous in comparison to the man she knew. A wave of pity came over her as she thought of how Vera must have been mistreated so terribly to make her think this way about all men. “ _He_ won’t. He’s different, Vera.”

“All men are the same, you little fool.” Vera narrowed her eyes. “But nevermind. We won’t talk about the Bolshevik who loves you. No, let us discuss Dmitry, hm?” 

At the mention of Dmitry, Anya felt her blood go cold. She must have paled, and Vera must have seen it despite the dimness beneath the bridge, because the woman’s red lips suddenly turned up into a smile. Still, Anya furrowed her brows together in mock confusion, keeping her voice steady as she murmured, “Who?” 

“Don’t play games with me, Anya. Diana saw you. We know that was you at the palace. Seems like someone was eavesdropping on our private conversations, to follow us there. Good and loyal Russian my ass.” Vera leaned close, flicking Anya’s scarf in her face pointedly. “Dmitry used to be a very good friend of mine, you know. A very good carnal friend, you could say.” At Anya’s grimace, Vera laughed. “That handsome face will say a lot, to get you to do what he wants. Like I said, all men are the same. You can’t really believe you’ll fool anyone, do you?”

Anya shook her head. “I’m not trying to fool anyone. I just want to get to Paris.” She shrugged. “Regardless, Dmitry and Vlad seem to believe in me.” 

Vera scoffed. “You think you can pass yourself off as a Romanov? You’re much too skinny and sallow to be any sort of princess. And you lack the class.” A puff of smoke escaped her painted lips. “I’m sure you’ll slip up.” 

“Maybe.” Anya swallowed thickly. Despite the doubtful words taking root in her mind, she kept her chin up and continued. “But it’s like you said, a woman will do whatever she needs to do in order to survive.” 

“Oh, so that only applies when you’re not willing to do what I do, is that it?” Vera snapped. “Fine, Anya, play your little games, wear those proud airs on your shoulders like you really are some Grand Duchess. But you’ll fool no one. Mark my words, Anya, this will come back to bite you someday.” The woman’s lips curved up into a taunting smile, and Anya was reminded of that day with the book, how Vera had found delight in treating Anya like an underling. “And I can’t wait to watch it happen.” 

“Vera…” Anya started as the woman turned away. 

“We are done here, Anya.” She snapped, reaching out to grab the book Gleb had given Anya right out of her hands. At Anya’s startled cry, Vera laughed at her, and held the book away from her, dangling it over the river. 

“Vera, please, don’t!” Anya exclaimed. 

“You’re not welcome here any longer.” Vera said smoothly, dragging the butte of her cigarette along the creamy white pages of Gleb’s gift. Anya attempted to jump at the woman and grab it, but Vera shoved her so hard that Anya landed on her back against the stone floor. “You, little miss Anya, are a fraud. I at least own up to what I do in order to get what I want. So, play your little games, get out of Russia. Better you face a firing squad than me.” 

Without warning, Vera threw the book into the river. 

Anya cried out, hurrying to her feet despite the pain spreading through her body. She tried reaching for the book, but the steady flow of the river carried it away before she could even attempt to grab it. Anger boiled up inside of her, and she had every urge to shove Vera into the river as well, but it would not change anything. 

“It’d be hilarious if your handsome officer saw you for what you really were. No doubt he will eventually.” Vera snarled. “Like I said, Anya, all men are the same.” 

Anya barely heard her. She stood in stunned silence, watching the book drift down the river, the cold water dragging it further and further away until it began to sink. Tears burned her eyes, but she would not cry in front of Vera, would not mourn the loss of her first gift from her only friend. 

Vera seemed to have finally had enough, and she laughed at Anya’s stricken face as she finally walked away in a puff of cigarette smoke. Anya dragged her eyes away from the drowned book to watch the woman go. 

The woman’s poisonous words were swirling through Anya’s mind. It wasn’t true, Anya knew none of it was true, but it still stung more than it ever should have. 

Anya looked away as Vera disappeared around the bend of the bridge. With one last look at the book as it drifted downstream and disappeared, Anya shuffled away, broom dragging behind her and mat and thin blanket left behind. 

She emerged from beneath the bridge, and she had the sensation of a door closing. The sound of it echoed in her mind, a lock turning, and when Anya turned around to look back at the bridge that had been her shelter ever since she'd come to Leningrad, she fully expected a closed door to have appeared there. 

This chapter of her life was officially over. She could at least take comfort in that fact. She would not be Anya the orphan forever. She would not be the girl sleeping under a bridge any longer. She was finding out who she was. She was going to Paris, and she would never have to sleep under a bridge or worry about where her next meal was coming from ever again. 

Times were changing. It was time to let go, and embrace her future.

\--

 

“Do you think we should tell her everything about our brilliant plan?” 

Dmitry tore his gaze away from Anya’s sweeping figure across the square and looked up at Vlad. The older man was at his side, fumbling with his gloves as he too looked at their little princess to be. 

“What good would that do?” Dmitry replied. “All she wants to do is get to Paris. Why should we have to split the reward money with her?” He laughed under his breath. “Can you believe that a street sweeper hasn’t heard _anything_ about the Romanov rumors? Especially when her boyfriend is a Bolshevik.” 

“He’s not her boyfriend, Dmitry.” Vlad reminded him with a chuckle. 

“Oh, please, like the logistics of that relationship really matter.” Dmitry rolled his eyes, and looked across the square at the girl in question. 

“I think if he were her boyfriend she wouldn’t be looking for ways to flee the country and leave him.” Vlad snickered. 

“Unless he’s too terrible to properly break up with.” Dmitry sneered. “I mean, he _is_ a Bolshevik.” 

Vlad nodded in agreement, but knew better than to comment further. Not when the man in question could appear out of thin air, like he was wont to do. Dmitry seemed to pick up on that, and thankfully let it drop. 

“Y’know, it seems almost too good to be true that she doesn’t remember her past.” He suddenly smacked his hand against Vlad’s shoulder. “You don’t think _she’s_ using _us_ do you?” Dmitry suddenly asked quietly. “I mean, do you think she’s _working_ for the Bolsheviks?” 

Vlad took a deep breath, considering all the possibilities before he answered. “No, my boy.” He burst into a laugh. “At this point, I’d rather a Bolshevik spy be our Anastasia over one of those ladies of the night any day. Their acting was horrid! At least Anya has both the resemblance and the class.” _Not to mention the possibility of the actual Romanov blood…_ Vlad thought with a smile. 

“Don’t even joke!” Dmitry said anxiously. “Y’know, Gleb Vaganov has a history of chasing me down.” He suddenly looked around nervously, as though the mention of the Deputy Commissioner’s name would make him apear. “Maybe he’s using her as bait to get to us.” He looked up at Vlad. “I mean, especially with your history and mine. Maybe those women _did_ rat us out!” 

“You’re awfully paranoid. This is not like you at all. ” Vlad smiled wearily and looked back at his young friend, slinging an arm around his shoulders in an affectionate, fatherly motion. “The man has other things to worry about. Like tracking down _other_ imposters and conmen.” He snickered. Vlad looked back toward where Anya had disappeared. His voice lowered. “I trust Anya implicitly. She says she wouldn’t tell her friend, and I believe her. No doubt she knows the severity of the situation if he did know.” 

Dmitry sagged, his hands toying with the broken watch around his wrist. “What if we jumped too soon? Just because she had some faint memory about having been in the Yusupov Palace or that fat Count’s yellow cat doesn’t make her the Grand Duchess.” 

“Those two things could be the very key to her truly being the Grand Duchess!” Vlad laughed. “If I do recall, this was _your_ plan after all. Why am I being forced to play the confidence booster?”

“Because that’s always your role, isn’t it?” Dmitry chuckled. “I just wish I had your confidence and faith in her.” 

Vlad sighed. “Perhaps one day I’ll tell you exactly why I do. But for now, we just need to trust her.” 

Dmitry was quiet for a long moment before leaning closer and murmuring, “You really believe Anya is _her_?” 

Vlad chose his words carefully. “I believe that fate has brought Anya directly to us for a reason. Anya is a dream come true, Dmitry.” He said cryptically. “Whether or not she really is a Romanov, I don’t know. But what I do know is that she’s our ticket out of here to a brighter future.” He snickered. “A real one. Not some fanciful Bolshevik lie.” 

“Here, here.” Dmitry muttered with a smirk. 

Dmitry looked up as Vlad stepped away from him and fixed the younger man with a commanding look. “But if we’re ever going to get out of this freezing hellscape, you’d better get on the same page and figure out a way to trust her. If she’s ever going to get the confidence that she can do this, that she can recover these memories and see us through once we are before Lily and the Grand Duchess, then she will need you to believe in her too.” 

“But Vlad-“

“No, Dmitry. I mean it. I know you don’t think she’s really Anastasia, but what good will that do us if you make sure she doesn’t even believe it either?” 

Dmitry kicked a stone at their feet. “Maybe I have been too hard on her.” 

“Yeah, just maybe.” Vlad drawled sarcastically. 

Dmitry tugged on his hat. “Well, what do you suggest I do?” 

“I don’t know, my boy. Just try and talk to her without squabbling. _For once_.” Vlad said with exasperation. “Please, for the love of everything that is holy, let us get through one lesson without a fight between you two. It’s going to be a long winter if you two can’t find a way to understand each other and get through this.” Vlad clapped his hands. “In fact, why don’t you let _her_ teach _you_ a lesson for once, hm? It’d do you good to learn French, and she did offer after all.” 

Dmitry frowned instantly, recalling the day when Anya had effortlessly slipped into French out of nowhere during one of their lessons. He’d felt like an outsider while she and Vlad enthusiastically carried on a conversation in French, jabbering on like a pair of birds. Then Vlad had sniped about how French was for aristocrats and royals, how Russian was just for the common man like _him_. And Anya had laughed and then offered to teach Dmitry French and he hadn’t been able to tell if she was making fun of him or being honest. He winced at the memory of his snappy comeback, at her upturned nose and haughty glare. 

Dmitry mock pouted. “She’d never go for it.” 

“She offered!” Vlad laughed. “And genuinely, might I add, until you opened your big mouth!” Before Dmitry could defend himself, Vlad waved his hand and continued on. “You, I mean, _we_ won’t be common for much longer. We’re headed to France in a few months!” His voice dropped to a hushed whisper as he glanced around them. “It might do you some good to learn the language. And after your, well, um, shall we say _rocky_ beginnings with her, perhaps humbling yourself at the Grand Duchess’ feet for some French lessons might be a way to fix everything and set your focus straight.” 

Dmitry groaned. “She’s just so…” His exclamation died on his tongue as he noticed a familiar grey green uniform stalking down the street. “We’d better get out of here.” 

Vlad just nodded, smirking to himself as Dmitry turned and ran down an alley while he went the opposite direction down the Nevsky Prospekt. 

Well, at least the seeds were planted, he thought with a chuckle. Whether or not Dmitry chose to take his advice was another thing entirely. Vlad just hoped he would. It really would be a very long winter if those two couldn’t get along for once. 

Deputy Comissioner Gleb Vaganov glanced at Vlad as they crossed paths, but the moment Vlad looked back at him with a cheery, false smile, Gleb instantly scowled and shot him with a glare. Vlad stopped himself from giving a flourishing bow, deciding he rather liked his teeth, and carried on.

It _was_ rather curious, how Anya with such a bright sunshine smile and demeanor on her bleak life could be caught up in such a man. But Vlad had been on the earth much longer than Dmitry. And while he knew how difficult life had been for his young friend and how street smart he was, Vlad was the expert on people. There must have been something hidden beneath the surface of Gleb Vaganov for Anya to see and warm her heart towards. Vlad couldn’t make sense of it, and Dmitry sure as hell couldn’t, but if Anya could, (and was willing to keep her mouth shut about their plans to said Bolshevik), then he’d keep his focus on Paris and do his best to smooth over Dmitry’s nerves.

And while it had been so long ago that he had been in the Imperial Court, Vlad had never forgotten the royal family, and especially the little troublemaker Anastasia. Her bright teasing smile was hard to ever forget, and now Vlad was seeing it daily in their lessons with Anya. He kept telling himself that it was just a coincidence, but he was a dreamer and a romantic at heart, and he so badly wanted fate to have played them a kinder card for once. Vlad wanted her to be Anastasia _so badly_. He wanted to believe that her resemblance and dim memories were not all just a coincidence. He wanted to believe that the Grand Duchess _really had_ just waltzed right into their arms. 

Mainly for the reward money, of course, but more so because of what it would do for Russia. Vlad glanced over his shoulder at the fading form of Gleb Vaganov, and smirked to himself. That entire blasted regime would be done away with, he was certain, if there was a surviving Romanov to take it all back. 

Anya knew what it was like to scrounge, to work hard. She saw what it was like on the streets. Perhaps she would be a far better ruler than her father and mother had been. 

Vlad knew he wouldn’t be there to see it. His thoughts brightened as he pictured his beloved Lily, waiting for him in Paris. He’d never step foot in Leningrad ever again, if they pulled this off. His place was in Paris, amongst the bright lights and champagne and the sparkling diamond that was his Lily. He had spent too much time apart from her, and within a matter of months, he would be back at her side, reward money in hand, and Russia left in the past where it belonged. 

\--

Anya tried not to let her unhappiness toward what had happened beneath the bridge show when she met Gleb at the fountain that night. He had been scowling when he had walked up to the fountain, but his face had lit up in an instant when he’d seen her. He was in a surprisingly good mood, sharing his opinions on a new record he had found in his collection the night before. Anya listened intently, trying to appear enthused when he suggested she come over soon to not only retry the stroganoff recipe but to also listen to said record. 

But her previous conversation with Vera was too distracting. What if the woman was right? What if Anya really was a fraud? What if Gleb really would see right through her eventually, and then discard her and her friendship? 

She hadn’t wanted to think of what he would think of her if he knew who she thought her true identity was. But she wasn't sure which scenario would be worse for him to be aware of. Her being caught up in this scheme or her actually being the Grand Duchess? Would he think less of her for getting involved with all of this for the sake of getting to Paris?

It had only been three weeks of lessons with Vlad and Dmitry, but in those lessons, Anya felt more and more like she could possibly be this princess, with her family waiting in Paris, just like she always dreamed. But she didn’t want to get her hopes up. There was still a very real possibility that the Dowager Empress would take one look at her and shoot her down, insist that Anya wasn’t her granddaughter and that she really was a fraud. 

And then what? Did that mean this time with Vlad and Dmitry would be a waste? Would she stay in Paris and continue her search for where she was meant to be, who she was meant to be with?

No doubt if she failed, Dmitry and Vlad would part ways from her. Then she would be on her own again, but there would be no Gleb there to turn to. 

Her grasp on his arm tightened at the thought, and he must have noticed, because he paused in his storytelling to look down at her with concern. “Anya?” He murmured. “Are you alright? You’ve been awfully quiet.” 

Anya sighed softly, shaking her head free of any doubting thoughts. Everything else would fall into place eventually. She had never taken to heart what Vera and Diana thought of her before, so there was no point in starting now. And besides, she couldn’t worry about what would happen in the future, when she had the present to worry about first.

Her light eyes lifted to his face, noting how he looked down at her with concern as they walked. He was a worrywart at heart, she knew. And for her only. Even though they had been friends for so long now, she still was taken back to her first few sightings of him. How cold and dark his brow had been, how uncaring he had seemed as he had criminals dragged off of the Nevsky Prospekt. To know him now, his sweet side, how he spoke of his mother, his little garden and his mint tea, was like knowing a completely different man. 

Anya debated whether or not she should tell him the truth about her day. Well, not the full truth, but at least the truth of what had happened. But then that would reveal that she had been living under a bridge, that she had gone there only to retrieve her things now that she was hiding out in the old Yusupov Palace only for her prostitute ‘roommate’ to throw her things in the river and bring out her worst fears. 

Her hand tightened on his arm again. Yeah, she was definitely not going to say all that. 

“I’m fine, Gleb.” She settled on. “It’s just been a long day.” 

“My dear friend,” He began, “You don’t seem fine.” 

Anya bristled, but knew he was only saying it out of genuine concern, and not to bait her like Dmitry loved to do. She sagged against him, and he rested his hand over hers. Before she could lace her fingers into his, he pulled his hand back and let it fall at his side. 

“I had a not so good run in with my roommate today.” She began quietly, the ache in her back screaming at her as if on cue as the words fell from her lips. “She got rather upset with me, and lashed out by throwing the book you gave me into the river.” 

Gleb tensed beside her, and she looked up at him fearfully. “I’m so sorry, Gleb. I tried to stop her.” Anya gripped his arm tighter. “Please, don’t be upset with me, I protected that book as long as I could, she just-“

Gleb stopped in his tracks and quickly moved to stand in front of her, gripping her by the shoulders firmly. “Anya…” He sighed, and the sound of her name on his voice sounded like a song. “I’m not mad at you.” He shook his head in disbelief. “How could I ever be mad at _you_?” Gleb asked this as if it was the most ludicrous thing anyone could ever suggest. 

“But the book…” 

“Is just a book.” Gleb said quietly, and for the second time within a few moments, released her far too quickly for Anya’s liking. “I’m just grateful she did not hurt you.” 

Anya smiled awkwardly, deciding it would probably be best not to mention the landing on her back nonsense. “That’s true. It could have been much worse.” She took his arm again and they presumed their walking. “Of course, having been on my own for as long as I have, I can certainly take care of myself.” 

“Yes, I suppose so.” He murmured distantly. “Though I would hate for you to feel as though you have to continue to fend for yourself, you know. You do have…well, me.” 

Anya smiled up at him. “I know, Gleb. And I thank you for that.” A warm feeling came over her, and she fought the urge to lean her cheek against his shoulder, much like that rainy day in his apartment. “Your friendship means so much to me.” 

“And yours…means the world to me.” He stammered. 

They continued their walk in companionable silence, though Anya could sense Gleb’s distress once they came closer to the bridge. He stopped her before she could let go of him, his wide dark eyes lowering to study her face. “Perhaps I can cheer you up with a hot cup of tea? The teashop is not far.” 

Anya thought of Vlad and Dmitry waiting for her and couldn’t help but grimace in response. Gleb furrowed his brow and ducked his head to seek her eyes, but she stubbornly looked down at her shoes. 

“No, Gleb, but thank you.” She brushed her hands over her coat. “I…” She flushed, trying to come up with some excuse on the spot. “I had better get home and try and mend things. I don’t think anyone will sleep well tonight if I don’t go smooth things over.” 

“Anya…” He started. “Will you be alright? Perhaps I should come with you, just in case something happens.” He grit his teeth. “Is the girl you had a fight with the one from before, with the book?”

Anya laughed awkwardly. “The very same.” She pursed her lips. “I’ll be just fine, Gleb. You don’t need to accompany me.”

“What is it you argued about, Anya? Perhaps I can help.” He folded his hands together. 

Anya felt her smile quiver, and she looked back down at her shoes. “Oh, nothing you need to concern yourself with, Gleb. Just…girlish, frivolous things.” 

“I’ve never known you to be frivolous.” He said quietly. “But if you’re sure…”

Anya nodded at him, and gently gave his arm a squeeze before slipping her hand out of it. “I’m quite sure. You mustn’t worry about me.” She smiled devilishly. “In fact, you’d better worry about the other girl. She’d better not try to rile my temper up any further than she already has, throwing your book in the canal like she did. Who knows what might happen?” 

Gleb understood the teasing tone of her voice, so when he laughed, Anya could breathe a little easier. He was her friend through and through, but he was also an officer, and if he sensed any malicious intent coming from her, she knew he would have to follow through with his duty and take action. She was thankful he didn’t know Vera, that he wouldn’t recognize her and confront her for what she’d done. 

Anya just wanted to be completely done with those women and that bridge and the entire situation. Even if it meant she wouldn’t have Gleb’s book with her in Paris. The door was closed. That was that.

“Still, I’d be happy to buy you a cup of tea, my friend.” He offered.

Anya blushed and pressed her palm to the center of his chest. It had become a little habit, this simple action. A little thrill ran down her spine at the feeling of his warmth, his heartbeat thudding away beneath the layers of his uniform. She never missed the sharp intake of breath he always did when she did it. In fact, she found herself looking forward to it, almost to the point of wanting to do it more often, just to see his reaction. 

“Thank you, comrade, but you mustn’t worry about spending your rubles on me.” 

His bright smile faded. “Is that what you’re worried about, Anya?” He asked carefully. “The money?” 

Anya nearly nodded, but she kept herself still. She was about to draw her hand away when his gloved one came up and curled around her wrist, holding her in place. “Maybe a little.” She shrugged, picturing the warmth of his smile, the touch of his hand on that rainy night. “Maybe something else.” 

“Something else?” He pressed, but she was tugging her hand free and backing away. “Anya?”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Gleb.” She said with a small, shaky smile. “I need to go.” 

“Always in a hurry, my friend.” He hummed, his hands folding neatly behind his back. Anya felt pinned to the spot by the weight of his gaze. It was nothing like the commanding glares he used when apprehending a criminal or when giving his impassioned speeches. No, this one was all the more terrifying and intriguing to her. This stare held devotion and unspoken words and promises. This stare looked at her as though she hung the stars in the sky, as though the moon dangled from her fingertips. 

Anya gasped quietly from such a stare, and he blinked in surprise, and in the quickest of moments, the expression was wiped clean from his face. “And I always let you go.” He chuckled. “Until tomorrow, my friend.” 

Anya swallowed thickly, her cheeks warm and her heart thundering. She was certain Gleb could hear it, but he just smiled and turned away from her as she murmured a quiet. “Until tomorrow.” 

\--

 

Dmitry hated this feeling. 

Vlad was _right_. And now, Dmitry got to reap the consequences of that fact. 

He picked at his dinner, a small bowl of stew, while Vlad quizzed Anya on the names of Russian royals. His companions had finished their dinner a long time ago, had given up trying to include him in their conversation, given his sour mood. Anya had made a joke about his sullen demeanor, and while sure, it _had_ been rather funny, Dmitry was in no mood to muster up a chuckle or even mumble anything back. 

With a huff, he finally gave up on his dinner, setting it aside. Almost instantly, Vlad swooped in and grabbed the bowl, shoving the book into Dmitry’s hands and gesturing to Anya. “Your turn.” He said in a sing song voice, winking down at him as he walked past them to get closer to the fire. 

Anya crinkled her nose, but quickly straightened her face as Dmitry came to plop down in Vlad’s seat. He shuffled through the pages, and she watched quietly. 

“You seem awfully distracted tonight, Dmitry.” She pointed out, and he looked up, taking note of her serious expression and lack of mocking in her voice. 

“How astute you are, princess.” He muttered, causing her to roll her eyes. He knew he had ruffled her feathers, so before she could come up with any comeback of her own, he held his hand out to her. “I’m sorry. I…I am a little distracted." He sighed. "I guess I’ve just been thinking that maybe we got off on the wrong foot.” 

Anya narrowed her eyes at him, but nodded in agreement. “I would say so too.” She chewed on her lower lip. “We met nearly three weeks ago and you’re just noticing that _now_?” She teased. 

Dmitry felt the corners of his lips quirk up into a half smile. “Yeah.” 

“Well, I accept your apology.” Anya hummed. 

“Apology? Who said anything about an apology?” Dmitry snickered. “I was just saying-“

“Well, if you’re not going to apologize then quit talking. Unless you’re going to give me a lesson on my possible family, then anything else you could possibly say would only upset me.”

Dmitry rolled his eyes. Before he could retort, Vlad cleared his throat from across the room, his gaze deeply focused on the fire and Dmitry’s leftover stew. Dmitry was reminded of their conversation earlier on the Nevsky Prospekt, and he looked back at Anya’s expectant, _bratty_ expression. 

“I’m _sorry_ for my previous behavior princ-“ Dmitry caught himself and coughed, “Anya.”

Anya’s eyes were still narrowed, but her lips quirked into a playful smile. For a moment, she almost looked like she would continue her teasing, make him feel foolish. Instead, her expression turned almost sweet. “Thank you, Dmitry. I accept your apology.” She looked down at the book Vlad had given him. 

“So. Are you going to teach me a lesson?” She asked playfully, and Dmitry felt his cheeks grow hot for some unknown reason. He looked down at the book in his hands and then at the books on the counter behind her. 

“Actually, I was hoping _you_ could teach _me_ a lesson.” He coughed, and rose up to set her book down in exchange for one of the French books from off the counter. 

Anya’s eyebrows flew up, and she coughed out a surprised little laugh. “Really?” She asked in an astonished voice. 

Dmitry glared down at the book in his hands. “I mean if you’re too busy sweeping and romancing your Bolshevik then forget it. Just know that I will be using you as a translator in Paris.” 

“Dmitry!” Anya exclaimed, reaching out to shove at his shoulder with another laugh. He peeked up at her, finding no teasing or anger in her expression. Just that sweet smile and bright laugh as she took the book out of his hands. “I would be delighted to teach you French, if you really want to learn.” 

Dmitry ran a hand over the back of his neck. “I…I do.” _If I have to,_ he thought to himself unhappily.

“Great!” She exclaimed, her strawberry blonde hair whipping around her face as she spun in her chair. “Vlad! Did you hear that? Dmitry wants to learn French!” 

“Oui, mon cher!” Vlad said excitedly. “You have more courage and strength than anyone to be willing to teach _that_ boy.” 

Dmitry shot Vlad a frown, nearly exclaiming that it was all _his_ idea in the first place, but from the bright smile Anya was fixing him currently, he held his tongue. 

“Can’t wait.” Dmitry said through his teeth.

\--

Anya was tired. 

One might have said she had bitten off more than she could chew, but for a girl who’d never known a full stomach in the past nine years of her life, she didn’t know how well the phrase coincided with her current situation. 

Fall brought a beautiful array of changing color to the trees, but it also brought piles and piles of leaves to sweep up. Her shifts seemed to go on longer because of it, and her arms ached and her hands broke from the vigorous force of her sweeping. 

Gleb had noticed her weariness, and she was thankful for the bright spot in her day when he would let her lean on his arm as they walked to the bridge. Sometimes she would lay her head on his shoulder and let him lead her, humming softly to his quiet stories and thoughts. 

But then, they would part, and she would have to slip into the Yusupov Palace for princess lessons and verbal sparring matches with Dmitry. 

At least Vlad and Dmitry usually had something to eat, meager as it was, it was still more than she’d ever had on her nights under the bridge. She never went to bed full, but she never went to bed hungry either. 

She clung to those bright moments to get her through her exhaustion. Gleb’s smile and warmth was what she looked forward to most during the work day, and a warm meal and a shelter to sleep in was what got her through princess lessons. 

And now, French lessons with Dmitry. 

It was a struggle, at first. Despite his halfhearted apology, they still found themselves snapping at each other. Vlad was a good mediator between them, but he often made himself scarce during their evening French lessons. 

Tonight was a little harder. All Anya wanted to do since returning to the palace was to curl up by the fire and sleep for days. She could hardly stop yawning during a lesson on proper mealtime etiquette, Vlad’s loud, commanding voice being the only thing that kept her upright and somewhat awake. 

She had awoken the night before from a nightmare trembling and hiding muffled sobs in her scarf. While the men had snored on, she had cried from whatever horrors her nightmare had brought forth. Looking back on it now, Anya couldn’t even piece together what had made her nightmare so terrifying. Just that it was, as it always was. 

Anya blinked, finding a notebook being shaken in her face, and she looked across the table at Dmitry with a glare. He gave her an exasperated look, as if he had been trying to get her attention for a while. He could be such a _child_ sometimes. She took the notebook from him, eyeing his messy handwriting. At least the French was correct, but she wondered if she would also have to give him penmanship lessons as well. 

_Mama always wanted everything perfect,_ she thought distantly, _handwriting included._

The thought drifted away before she could linger too long on it, and she frowned to herself, trying for the millionth time in her life to try and figure out what was taught to her by Vlad and Dmitry or what was even a dream, or what was genuinely hers. 

“Are you alright?” Dmitry asked, almost begrudgingly. 

“Fine.” She mumbled, scooting the notebook across the table to him.

"You just seem a little distracted." He said absently.

“I didn’t sleep well last night.” She supplied, dragging her hands over her face in an attempt to wash the sleepiness away. “It doesn’t matter.” She directed her attention to the notebook again. “This is good, but I want us to work on some key words to help-“

“I have nightmares too.” Dmitry said quickly, his words almost jumbling together from the rapid pace. 

Anya looked up from her notebook, startled by the quick statement. His face was bright red, and by his ducked head, she realized how much he hadn’t wanted to admit it. It made her feel horrible that he would be so embarrassed to admit something like that to her. He and Vlad were becoming friends to her, two more to add to her collection, she thought with a smile. If they were going to spend the next few months together and then go to Paris and hopefully find her family, then they needed to understand each other.

Especially when he had been making an effort to fix things with her.

Anya leaned forward, resting her hand on his arm to catch his attention. “I’m sorry to hear that.” She said quietly. 

“Yeah, well.” He shrugged, and looked down at her hand on his arm. “I don’t have them all that often nowadays.” Dmitry’s lips thinned as he looked up to meet her eyes. “I’ve just noticed you have them nearly every night.” 

Anya withdrew her hand, and looked down sheepishly. “Yes.” She sighed. “I’ve had…dreams…nightmares…ever since I woke up in that hospital.” A wince passed over her face. “I’m sorry.”

“What for?” Dmitry chortled. “It’s not like you can control it.”

“For you to notice I have them so often, I must be waking you up.” She winced again. “The women under the bridge used to scold me so often for it. I’d feel terrible for waking them up, so to prevent myself from keeping them from sleep, I’d just…sometimes get up in the middle of the night and walk Leningrad until it was time for my streetsweeping shift.”

“St. Petersburg.” Dmitry corrected, and Anya could not help but laugh at the juxtaposition between him and Gleb. He gave her a puzzled look, but continued on. “It’s fine, Anya.” He tilted his head to the side. “What do you see in your dreams? It must be…quite something, I guess, for you to prefer walking around the city in the middle of the night.” He chuckled. "It can be pretty dangerous out there at night, you know." 

"I know. But you don't walk halfway across Russia without learning how to take care of yourself." She said with a faint smile. “I wish I could remember.” She said quietly, a sad smile playing at her lips. “When I wake up, it all goes away, almost if I never had them to begin with. I never know what’s a memory, a real true memory, and what’s just a dream. What I do know is that the faces I see come every night, but I have no idea who they are.” 

“Oh.” He said dumbly. Anya looked up at him, watching his expression shift as he considered something. He nodded to himself, as though deciding something in his head, before he reached down to fiddle with the button on his sleeve. She was surprised to find him slipping it out of place, and sliding his sleeve up to his elbow to reveal a watch strapped to his wrist. “I dream about my father.” He hummed, tapping his finger against the face of the watch. "This is all I have left of him." 

Anya nodded, waiting patiently for an explaination that may or may not come. She wouldn’t push him. If she could actually remember something, she wouldn’t want to be pressed for that information by him either. She just stared at him, waiting for whatever would come next. 

“Anya, my father was an anarchist. He…he died in a labor camp for his convictions.” Dmitry’s lips thinned as he tore his gaze from the watch at his wrist to meet her gaze. It made sense now why Dmitry loathed Gleb so much, why he wanted to get out of Russia so badly. Her heart ached for him, and she couldn’t help but reach one hand out to hover over his wrist, her fingertips barely brushing the leather band of his watch before he pulled his arm back. 

Anya didn’t know what to say. Again, she waited. 

“Like yourself, I have been on my own for a long time. My father was…my best friend. He used to carry me on his shoulders through St. Petersburg, showing me everything there was to see, shielding me from what was really going on, distracting me from the hunger in my stomach.” He smiled sadly. “’I bet you can see all the way to Finland from up there, Dima!’”

Anya giggled softly. His smile grew until it shifted into a lighthearted chuckle. “Dima?” She giggled. 

“He used to call me that.” Dmitry hummed, pulling his sleeve back into place. “I don’t dream much, Anya, but when I do, they’re generally nightmares. Just my luck, right?” He laughed humorlessly. “I watched them drag him away. He went so quietly, was smiling at me even, as he pressed the watch into my hand. He was so sure of everything he believed in.” Dmitry shook his head. “I don’t know why, but my nightmares tend to be of that last moment with him. In my dreams he’s screaming and they shoot him in front of me, or I'm there in that labor camp with him, watching him die in ways that I...I don't know.” 

Anya shivered, all words having left her as she tried to make sense of what he was telling her. He must have noticed her distress, because he laughed quietly, and bounced his knuckles against her knee. “I’m only telling you this to, I don’t know, show you that I get it.” He tapped her knee again, forcing her to look up at him, and find him wearing his usual crooked smile. “I know the truth of my last memory of my father. He was strong and sure, and he didn’t go down without a fight. Dreams are just dreams. Just voices in our head. Only we know the truth of our own history.” 

Anya’s smile began to fade, and he knuckled her knee again. “You are a very unique case, Anya. I guess take comfort in the fact that no matter how horrible your dreams get, they can't hurt you. Your dreams are just dreams, but who’s to say those memories of yours aren’t trying to reach out and shake you nonetheless?” 

She nodded at him, and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Maybe.” She murmured. Without really thinking, she curled her fingers around her necklace, the broken flower cold against her fingertips. “I hope one day I know as much about my true past as you do, Dmitry. No matter what you’ve endured, no matter what you wish you could change, you at least have your true memories. You at least can differentiate between what’s real and what’s just…dreams.” 

Dmitry leaned his chin into his hand. “I guess so.” He mumbled. “It’ll only be a matter of time before we know for sure, Anya. Paris will no doubt answer all those questions.” 

“I certainly hope so.” She murmured, looking down at the necklace in her fingers. “His watch. My necklace. At least we have these links to our past, hm?” 

“Yeah.” He chuckled. “At least we have them.” 

“Thank you for telling me all that, Dmitry.” She said quietly. 

“Thank you for listening.” He answered, shrugging his shoulders. “I didn’t want us to stay on the wrong foot forever.” 

Anya laughed quietly, and nodded in agreement. She met his eyes, finding an odd amount of warmth in his gaze as he smiled at her. It made her feel almost antsy, and she wished Vlad would sweep in and break the moment. But he wasn’t there, it was just the two of them, and she looked away as a shiver of shyness crawled up her spine. Her eyes fell to his discarded notebook and French book. 

“So.” She started, clearing her throat as she opened the French book. “Are you ready for a French lesson?”

Dmitry groaned, and slipped right back into his usual personality. “Am I ever?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, a Dmitry-centric chapter! 
> 
> This chapter and the next will be the last lighthearted ones for a while, because things will be picking up, along with the promised angst. Prepare yourselves. 
> 
> Hope ya'll enjoyed this chapter. Reviews are what kick me in the pants to keep updating, so keep em coming! They always make my day.


	7. Chapter Seven.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As autumn drags on, Gleb yearns to tell Anya how he truly feels about her. In hopes of doing so, he plans a special day for her. But will he finally be able to do it?

Gleb was on a horse. 

The last time he had been on a horse had been so long ago, during days of blood and snow and names of lost, fallen comrades. He never even used a horse on his patrols, finding the memories to be too much, and the efficiency of tracking down traitors far easier on his own two feet. But for some reason he was on a horse, galloping through the woods. And from the urgency of the horse’s gallops, he must have been headed in the direction of something very important. 

The air was crisp, despite the warm sunlight that was shining down on his back. The woods around him were different shades of yellow and green and orange, and there was an early morning misty fog that surrounded him. It was truly picturesque, and he found himself tearing his gaze away from the path ahead to look around and take in his surroundings. 

He had been in these woods before, he’s certain. Something pulls in the back of his mind, and he realizes he’s in Yekaterinburg. A much more beautiful Yekaterinburg than that of his childhood, that was for certain. The air around him was quiet, but nothing like that chilling empty sort of quiet he had grown up with. The air here didn’t seem to be lying in wait for the silence to be broken, always on the edge of some great precipice. It didn’t have that feeling like it had when he was a boy, like that feeling just as you hold your breath, just before everything shatters. 

Gleb looked back at the path before him, startled when his horse began to slow at the sight of something Gleb had not yet seen. He looked around until his gaze fell upon a figure dressed all in white, standing near the edge of the path. 

The air left his lungs. Bathed in sunlight and dressed in a gown of frothy lace and silks was Anya. 

His horse came to a stop beside her without him even needing to pull on the reigns. Gleb was struck by her beauty in the sunlight, the gentle way she curved her pink lips and smiled up at him. 

Almost instantly, a tinkling melody began to play. It sounded as though it was coming from an invisible music box. The sound seemed to waft around them without having any true source. It was a song he didn’t recognize, but nonetheless it sent a chill down his spine. 

But _Anya_. Her gentle smile grew bigger, brighter, somehow, as she looked up at him. He found that he could not care about the source of the song, or the dark feeling it brought. Not when the sun itself seemed to be emanating from her smile. 

“You found me.” She said airily, her voice echoing in his ears. He’d never seen such love or devotion in her wide blue eyes. To see it now, with her looking up at _him_ was almost too much for his heart to handle. 

“I’ll always find you.” He promised. 

Anya’s smile grew, and she reached her hands up to him. He was bending down to help her up onto the horse, when something sparkled against her chest.

A green and red bejeweled flower was pressed into the slot of the broken necklace she always wore. He was struck by the sight of it, knowing full well that the little flower had never left the box on his dresser, where it had been gathering dust since that fateful day he had found it. 

How it had come into her possession now, was another thing he didn’t know. He should have been more bothered by it, but he wasn’t. Somehow, it was meant for her.

Gleb shook his head and pulled her up into the saddle with him, her small form curling against his chest and her arms winding around him. She smiled wistfully up at him, and his heart gave a panicked stutter when her hand suddenly caressed his cheek.

“You found me.” She said again. He could not help but lean into her touch, his eyes slowly closing from the beautiful feeling of her hand against his face. “You’ve come to take me home.” 

And he had, hadn’t he? That’s what he had been looking for all along. He had been searching the woods for her, longing to bring her home, longing to _be_ her home. With the way she was fitting herself in his arms, the way she was staring into his eyes, he was struck with the feeling that she too saw home in his eyes. 

“You’re my home.” She suddenly said, her breath warm against his skin as she pulled his face down toward hers. The tinkling music box seemed to grow louder from wherever it was coming from, his senses overloading with the nearness of Anya and the song he couldn’t recognize. As Anya pulled his face down, her lips rising to meet his own, it all began to fade away until he could see nothing but the red and green flower about her neck. 

\--

Gleb awoke with a start. 

He found himself drenched in sweat, his head spinning and his heart pounding. That tinkling melody was echoing in his mind, leaving its ghostly, dark tendrils behind. 

What a dream. A beautiful dream. 

Gleb sat up, and ran his hands over his face. That’s all it was. A dream. Not reality. Just a dream that would fade like so many others, a dream that could not touch reality.

And yet it had felt so real. He could still see Anya, bathed in sunlight, reaching for him, longing and love in her eyes. He could feel her against his chest, could see her sweet smile and feel her lips on his own and…

He could see the Romanov flower against her heart, sparkling in the sunlight as if it was always meant to be there. 

He groaned into his palms. 

Gleb turned on the lamp on his bedside table and stood up, wandering over to his dresser. The box sitting there was a pain to open, both physically and emotionally, but he found himself prying it open and inspecting its contents. Little knickknacks and baubles from his childhood, from his mother and father, all greeted him. Memories flooded his mind as he pushed those items aside, taking in a sharp breath as he brushed his fingers over the little flower inside. 

He had discovered it in the days following that fateful night that the Romanovs had been dealt with. The Ipatiev House had been emptied and most of the officers that had been stationed there were gone. Those that were left behind had borne satisfied smiles. For the first time in months, there was laughter. An evil had been defeated, and everyone could start to finally live again, with the hope that the future held brighter days. 

Gleb had tried not to smile so much himself, given his father’s black mood ever since he’d returned from that night. _It was my duty,_ he’d said, _I did what was best for Russia._ Gleb heard his repeated words, understood what he was saying, but what Gleb couldn’t understand was the shadows that crept along the corners of his father’s eyes. 

He had been shadowing his father, following him through the empty house. Gleb had never been allowed across the street, never allowed into the house. He had only seen glimpses of the Romanovs, had only heard their voices in the small yard and seen them in their windows from time to time. To be allowed within the empty house now, felt eerie. The memory of their screams, the shots that had been fired, echoed in the back of his mind as they moved from empty room to empty room. 

He was glad when their patrol had finished. His mother had been watching them exit the house from their porch across the way, bundled up in traveling clothes. They were being relocated as well. Gleb would join his fellow brothers in arm, comrades, and they would fight. For Russia. For the future. 

Gleb had paused in the yard and glanced back at the empty house. He nearly spit, nearly cursed, but he held himself steady, allowing one last look before closing the door on everything they had endured over the past few months. With a resigned sigh, he turned to follow after his father, but something in the tall grass caught his eye. 

A sparkling little green and red flower lie in the grass, broken off of some extravagant item the family had been holding onto, no doubt. He had debated whether or not to turn it in to his father, or give it to his mother as a gift, or even just to leave it there to rust and rot. But instead, he found himself bending down and picking it up. It sparkled in the sunlight, but also sent a chill up his spine for some unknown reason. He tucked it into his pocket, the small flower causing a strange weight to his person. He knew he shouldn’t take it, shouldn’t keep something like this to himself, but it was something that would signify a period in his life when the world changed. When he was there to see the tides change. 

It had remained in his coat pocket through the war, safely tucked away until he returned home. Then it had been locked in a box for nearly nine years, almost ten, and to see it now was like a punch to the gut. 

It was a beautiful little trinket, and while the Romanovs and blue bloods of Russia might not have thought much about it, Gleb could see the value in it. It was a pretty little thing, and maybe deep down he had foolishly hoped he could give it to the girl that would be his wife one day. 

His mind returned to his dream and how perfectly it seemed to suit the necklace that was always around Anya’s neck. 

The fact that the flower had been fitted into Anya’s necklace in his dream meant very little. Dreams were just dreams. But still. Perhaps she might like the little flower. Perhaps he _could_ find a way to attach it to her necklace for her, to give her some sort of gift. 

Maybe if he would quit dragging his feet, he could make such a gift _mean something_. He could give the flower new purpose; perhaps even use it to signify a promise between them. 

A wobbly smile formed on his lips. That would require him to admit his feelings for her _to her_ , and in a way that wouldn’t scare her off. While he was completely certain of his own feelings for her, there was still the question of whether or not she viewed him the same way. 

If he was honest with himself, Gleb had allowed himself to hope that she might. Ever since that rainy day in his apartment, when he had awoken to find her in his arms and all the little moments they had shared, he let himself hope. She clearly held a lot of affection for him. Who was to say it couldn’t be love? 

Would she deny him, he wondered, if he shared his true, deeper feelings with her? What would she think if he admitted to having thoughts of marrying her? Would she shun him, laugh in his face, find the idea ridiculous? 

His lips thinned. No, that was not the true fear. He knew Anya would never laugh at him, especially not when his feelings for her were involved. No, he supposed his fear was deeply rooted elsewhere. 

He knew Anya wanted to find her family, find her true origins, but she believed those answers lay in _Paris_. He could hardly ask her to give up that yearning, those questions, but would she possibly give it up by her own choice, if she realized she had feelings for him too? 

For as long as he had known her, there had been no real possible way for her to get to Paris. It was always off in the distant future; just a dream of some day seeing the city and finding out if her family was there. But there had never been any movement toward her actually going there. 

Could she content herself to remain in Leningrad, with him, as his wife, even if he couldn’t promise her Paris? Could she accept him as her family, as her home, and give up the dream she had held onto for nearly ten years? 

It seemed absolutely impossible. He knew Anya. He knew she would never give up her dreams for anything. But what if she _did_? What if she _did_ love him, and really would give up that dream, just to be his wife? 

It was overwhelming to even consider, but the seed Gorlinsky had planted in Gleb’s head of marrying Anya was now blossoming into a hopeful idea in his heart. Gleb stared at the flower for a long moment, smiling to himself as he closed the lid of the box and turned back to his bed. 

Once the light was out, he stared up at the ceiling, considering the fact that if he could just open himself up to her, if he could just be honest with how he truly felt, that maybe it would be reciprocated. His own questions could be answered, his own dreams might come true. And just maybe, the love in dream Anya’s eyes would be made real in the sparkling blue eyes of his dearest friend. 

Gleb smiled stupidly to himself, and rested his hand over his heart. 

“Anya.” 

\--

Anya would be glad when fall was finally over.

The day had been long, full of sweeping and studying. As beautiful as the bright bursts of colors in the otherwise grey Leningrad were, the huge piles of leaves she had been forced to sweep up every day was getting old. She found herself finishing her shift with sorer arms than she had ever had, her hands breaking and aching like the early days of starting her street sweeping jobs. 

She smiled wanly. And then of course there was now the ache in her feet from the failed dance lesson the night before. Learning, or relearning, to waltz had seemed a simple enough task. But Dmitry must have been born with two left feet, because now she had the bruised toes to prove it. 

Anya was _tired_ , and was certain she would continue to be tired until she was in Paris. And even after that, who could say she would be resting much? 

She didn’t want to think about the long days of travel that it would take before they even reached Paris. And then there was convincing the Dowager Empress' lady in waiting Lily that she was Anastasia before even seeing if the Dowager Empress saw her lost granddaughter in an amnesiac street sweeper’s face. 

It all seemed so ridiculous when she really thought about it. She couldn’t look into a mirror and stare into her own eyes and see a Grand Duchess staring back, let alone _anyone_ of _any_ importance. 

The only times in her miserable life that she had felt important to anyone was when in Gleb’s presence. 

Her heart squeezed in her chest. And she would soon be leaving him. And for what? A _possibility_?

No. She had to keep reminding herself that it would have always come down to this. Paris had always been her goal, long before Vlad and Dmitry had ever come along with their ideas of Anastasia, and long before she ever even met Gleb. Her fingers caressed the broken necklace at her throat, and she smiled distantly to herself. 

Sparing the clock above her a quick glance, she realized Gleb would be showing up soon. She forced herself to perk up, going as far as to splash a bit of water from the fountain onto her face, and pinch her cheeks to bring some color back. 

Sure enough, as soon as she had finished drying her face on the sleeve of her coat, Gleb’s grey green uniform came into view as he moved down the street toward her. _Ever the punctual one,_ she thought with a smile. Once he got closer, she stood up, brushing her hands over her skirt to smooth out any wrinkles she knew were there.

“Hello, Gleb.” She said softly as he approached. 

“Hello, my friend.” He hummed, his hands tucked behind his back. He glanced up toward the Singer House before looking back down at her, a strange look on his face. “I have a bit of an odd question for you.” 

Anya felt a cold sweat form on the back of her neck. Panic rose up in her, and she wondered if he _knew_. Maybe someone had seen her sneaking in and out of the Yusupov Palace and reported her. Gleb had often reminded her of the eyes and ears all throughout Leningrad. He would no doubt know if _she_ was mixed up with the whispers on the streets about the last Romanov princess, no matter how careful she _thought_ she was being.

But he had a fairly easygoing expression on his handsome face, was even fighting back a smile and so she forced herself to keep her cool, despite the ever building knot in her throat. 

“Oh?” She smiled, keeping her voice steady. “And what’s that?” 

_This_ was exactly why she loathed lying to him. Any simple inquiry that he might have had for her that she would have otherwise reacted to normally before was now enough to make her nearly vomit from nerves. For the hundredth time, she wondered if she should just come right out and tell him. But the shining of his medals caught her eye, and she was brought back to reality. He was a deputy officer, one who chased after conmen like Dmitry and Vlad all day long. He might let _her_ go with a warning, but there was no doubt Dmitry and Vlad would be punished. And she had promised not to let that happen. 

He extended his hand toward her, and she took it slowly, eyeing him as he led her to sit back down on the edge of the fountain. “You’re awfully proper, helping me to sit.” She teased as he sat down beside her. “You must have forgotten who you’re with.” She bumped him gently with her elbow. 

“Oh, Anya.” He rolled his eyes at her. “You know I hold you in the highest of my regard. Enough of that.” Gleb gave her a smile and she shook her head at him in disbelief. 

“Okay, okay.” She rested her hands in her lap, and looked up at him with a mockingly serious expression. “Out with it. What’s your funny question?” 

“Well…” He began with a sigh, his dark eyes lifting again to the Singer House. “You know I take your loss of memories quite seriously, and I don’t want you to be embarrassed if you do not know the answer to this, but…this odd curiosity has overwhelmed me today.” His shoulders shook with a chuckle. “I probably shouldn’t even ask.”

Anya smirked. “You’re leaving me in suspense. Now you _have_ to ask it.” 

He sent her an apologetic look, and she nearly laughed in surprise to find his cheeks growing red. She nearly teased him, but before she could, he breathlessly asked, “Do you have any idea when your date of birth is?”

 _“You were born in a palace by the sea on the 18th of June 1901.”_ Vlad’s voice murmured in her memory. But of course, that wasn’t _her_ actual birthday. Or, well, it _might_ have been, but she wouldn’t know until she was in Paris. For now, it was the Grand Duchess Anastasia Nikolaevna Romanov’s birthday. Anya’s birthday was still a mystery.

Still, she had to catch herself from answering as such, so used to answering questions thrown at her about ‘herself’. But Anya had to give herself credit, because with that answer in her mind came the answer to a great deal more answers to personal questions. 

“I have no idea.” She said with a shrug. “Something tells me I was born in the summertime. But as to the day or month, I haven’t got a clue.” She looked up at him with a sad smile. “I am sorry to disappoint you, my friend.” 

Gleb wrapped an arm around her shoulders and laughed. “I doubt you could ever disappoint me, Anya. It’s quite alright, really, it is.”

Anya bumped him with her shoulder and smiled teasingly at him. “I should hope it’s alright. Of course, if it weren’t, then what would you do? Whip out some secret Bolshevik mind tricks to get me to remember?”

Gleb chuckled, but it was short lived. “Oh, that I could, my friend. If it would help you, I’d do all that I can to recover your memories.” 

Anya nodded with a smile, settling against his side comfortably. “I’m sorry if I stepped on your toes with that comment. I forget myself when teasing you.” 

He shook his head, smiling easily at her. “Between friends, there is no harm. You are a good and loyal Russian. I trust in you more than I do some of my other fellow comrades.” 

Anya smiled, and felt her cheeks warm as his gaze softened. She stood up and stretched her tired arms out before looking back at him. “Why did you want to know about my date of birth?” 

He stood up as well and they began their daily walk side by side. “General curiosity, I suppose.” His arms folded behind his back. “If you don’t know what your date of birth is, then I suppose you’ve never celebrated it, have you?”

“Not that I can remember.” She joked, earning her a bark of laughter from her companion. 

Gleb considered something for a long moment before stammering out, “I was thinking that perhaps _we_ could celebrate it somehow. Wouldn’t that be fun?”

Anya felt butterflies fill her stomach at his kindness, and she stopped in her tracks to look up at him. “But…summer has ended.” 

Gleb bent toward her, with a quivering, teasing smile. “If you don’t know what your actual birth date is, but are just going on a guess that _maybe_ it’s during the summer, what’s the harm of celebrating now?” He grinned. “Why, today could be your actual date of birth, but we wouldn’t know!” 

Anya tilted her head to the side. Any good humor was suddenly fading as a wave of embarrassment overwhelmed her. “Are you making fun of me, Gleb?” She asked sourly. 

Gleb stood straight in an instant, his hands flying out to rest on her shoulders. “I’d never do such a thing. Forgive me, Anya, please.” He gave her shoulders a firm squeeze. “I’d never make light of what you have endured, and the time you’ve lost. I just…wished to lighten the subject, I suppose.” 

She eyed him warily, before nodding her assent. “Well, what did you have in mind?” 

Gleb made a face as though he was concerned she didn’t believe his apology, but continued on, obviously hoping to convince her. “I have a slew of ideas.” He smiled at her. “But I am open to any suggestions you may have. It would be your special day, after all.” 

“If you’d like to make it really special, you’d whisk me away to Paris.” She suggested with a teasing smile.

His hands fell away from her shoulders, his smile fading. “It would do neither of us good to go there. Not now, anyways.” He said seriously, and Anya suddenly felt uncomfortable with the strange wedge that was appearing between them at the smallest mention of Paris. Hoping to ease him, she met his gaze and nodded evenly. 

“I am quite busy with work lately.” She stuffed her hands into her skirt pockets, her fingertips toying with the two tiny diamonds inside. “It seems silly to say, considering your line of work, but it’s true.” She looked above them as they passed under a tree that was depositing different colored leaves to the ground around them. “Fall is my busiest season, after all.” She joked. 

“I understand.” He murmured. 

After a long silence, Anya assumed the subject and the idea altogether had been dropped. He had good intentions, and she kicked herself for making a joke when he was obviously trying to do something nice for her. And now, with the silence between them, it seemed as if there would be no returning to his curious idea. 

But when they reached the bridge, he turned toward her with a sly smile and scratched at his jaw. “How about Saturday? We could meet here around noon.” 

Anya tapped her finger against her lips, thankful that his tone was lighter and his eyes smiling as he awaited her answer. “I suppose I could fit you in.” She hummed. “I must move around so many appointments, you know.” 

Gleb’s face lit up, and Anya grinned at him as he reached for her hand. “It shall be a wonderful day, my dear friend.” He surprised her by bringing her knuckles to his lips. “It will make up for past birthday celebrations you’ve missed.” 

Her face grew hot, especially when his lips lingered, the scruff of his chin scratching against her fingertips as he pulled away. She ducked her head with a shy little laugh, and then chanced a look up at him. “Promise?” 

“With all my heart.” 

\--

“Dmitry?” 

The man in question looked up from the French book in his lap. As Anya stepped into the kitchens, he quickly stuffed the book in his coat pocket, away from her prying eyes. If she noticed his quick movements, she didn’t seem in the mood to tease him about it. No, if anything, there was seriousness about her expression that made him feel uneasy. 

“Yes?” He replied lazily when she didn’t continue. She was fiddling with her gloves, chewing on her bottom lip as she stepped closer to where he sat by the fire. “Anya?”

“I need a dress.” She blurted out, just when he was about to question her again. 

“You need uh…?” He laughed and stood up, gesturing to his clothes. “What makes you think I have a surplus of dresses?”

“I just thought-”Anya crossed her arms over her chest, finally looking up at him and fixing him with an irritated look. “Look, I just need something a little finer than what I have. I thought since you and Vlad come across a great deal of…erm… _items_ …you might be able to help me.”

“What for? We’re not in Paris yet.” He reminded her. “You’re a street sweeper. I didn’t think you needed a ball gown for that.” 

“I don’t need a ball gown for _this,_ either.” She sighed. “I knew I should have asked Vlad.”

Dmitry couldn’t help but smile. “And yet, you came to me.” He took a step toward her, and inspected her up and down. “I may not have a surplus, but I’m sure I could find something.” 

“Really?” She gave him a faint smile. “I could pay you back for it, you know. Eventually. Just. Put it on my tab.” Anya joked, her smile instantly fading as she realized he was now walking around her, his eyes continuing to inspect her figure. “What are you circling me for?” She exclaimed. “Were you a vulture in another life?” She added smartly. 

“Come on!” He snickered. “It brings me no pleasure, I promise you.” He elbowed her, and she quickly jumped away. “I’m just trying to get a general idea of your size, is all. When do you need it by?”

“Saturday.” She replied, looking down at the fireplace. 

“May I ask what you need it for, your majesty?” Dmitry asked in a faux regal voice. 

“Well.” Anya sighed and sat down in the chair he had just occupied. He would have sniped at her to get out of his seat, but the distress on her pretty face was enough to cause even him to be concerned for her. He crouched down when she continued to hesitate, giving her knee a little nudge with his finger. 

“Forget I asked.” He said, shrugging his shoulders. “I’ll find you something.” 

“It’s just going to sound silly, that’s all.” She sighed. 

“Times like these, I could always use some silliness.” 

The two shared a laugh, and she met his eyes with embarrassment. “Gleb wanted to know when my birthday is.” 

“And did you tell him?” Dmitry asked, narrowing his eyes at the mention of her officer friend. What he felt whenever she brought her deputy commissioner up was _not_ jealousy. It was just…disgust at her knowing a Bolshevik, especially _that_ Bolshevik, and holding said Bolshevik so close to her heart. 

“I may know the date of birth of the girl I _might_ be.” She rolled her eyes. “But I don’t know really when _my own_ is.” She shrugged. “I told him sometime in summer. But that’s not the point. He wants to spend a day with me doing something special, to make up for all the birthdays in the past I've missed.” 

“How gallant.” Dmitry said dryly, earning him a frown. 

“Yeah, and I just wanted to look better than I usually do.” She raked her fingers through her hair, upsetting the crown of braids her strawberry blonde locks were wound up into. “I know it’s ridiculous, but-“

“It’s not ridiculous.” Dmitry said as evenly as he could. “I get it.” His legs were beginning to ache, and the longer she stared at him with those dewy, challenging blue eyes of hers, the longer that feeling that definitely wasn’t jealousy, felt more and more like jealousy. He stood up, and held his hand out for her. She eyed it apprehensively, before slipping her fingers into his and standing up. 

“I’ll have something for you by tomorrow, alright?” 

Anya’s face fell into a gentle relief, and she gave his hand a squeeze before nodding at him. “Thank you, Dmitry.” 

At his nod, she released his hand and spun away, leaving him alone in the kitchen again. With a sigh, he took his seat again, pulling the book out of his pocket. This time, he could hardly engage with the text. He already had been struggling to make sense of it, but he’d promised Anya he would try. Especially since she had been making such efforts to work so hard with everything he and Vlad threw at her. He was stubborn to admit it, given with how much they fought, but she was surprising him. She was learning fast, and growing confident in the role she would be playing. 

If it even _was_ a role, and not who she _really_ was. But he wasn’t going to get ahead of himself. A simple resemblance and a quick mind to remember endless facts of the royal family and even some of her own were not enough to actually make her Anastasia, even if Vlad thought otherwise.

And yet, deep down, part of him _hoped_ she was. Over the weeks together, the irritation between them had slowly been melting into an apprehensive friendship. He found himself genuinely proud of her for all that she had been remembering. Her teasing and joking was becoming funny to him now, and the banter between the three of them was enjoyable, and not as irritating as it once was. 

As much as he didn’t want to admit it, part of him genuinely felt like the Grand Duchess really _had_ waltzed right in. He didn’t believe in anything like fate, had grown up on his own too cynical to imagine that any sort of fairytales could exist, but this felt like maybe he was finally doing something right. If there was such a thing as fate, maybe it was smiling down on him for once. 

He found himself looking for pieces of the girl he had once seen in Anya, to see if her smile matched the one in his memory. The princess who had picked him out of that crowd of thousands and smiled at _him._ He hoped that fate would be kind to him in that way. _Just give me that,_ he thought to himself, _let me have found her again._

It just made him uneasy that she was such close friends with a Bolshevik. Especially _that particular_ Bolshevik. Dmitry had been on the receiving end of one of Gleb Vaganov’s burning scowls more often than not. He had watched that man lug people off the street who had never been seen again, had seen the chilling glare on his hard features. It had been the man’s scowl that had knocked Dmitry into Anya so long ago, though he hadn’t even known it was her then. To picture the stone faced officer squiring Anya around St. Petersburg, wanting to do nice things for her, didn’t match up with the glaring face Dmitry knew too well. 

The man was powerful and truly terrifying, and to know that Anya was mixed up with him and coming to Dmitry looking for a dress to impress him with was just…unsettling. Dmitry didn’t know why, and he blamed the building confusion on not being able to grasp the French before him. 

And it _wasn’t_ jealousy. Dmitry might have been fond of Anya now, but he was in no position of being _jealous_ of another man having her attention. No, it wasn’t that at all. He was just…unsettled. Gleb was a Bolshevik. Everything he stood for was monstrous and disgusting. It was just unsettling that Anya was connected to him. That was _all._

And besides, they would be going to Paris soon anyway, if luck was on their side. And even if Anya wasn’t Anastasia, despite his secretive hopes, even if they were turned away in an instant, he would still stick around with her, make sure she would be able to find her place, maybe even whoever she thought was waiting for in Paris, if it wasn’t the Dowager Empress. 

So there was nothing to not be jealous about. Gleb Vaganov would be left behind in Russia, while he, Vlad and Anya ran away to the City of Lights to start a new life.

The thought brought him too much pleasure, and he didn’t know why it irritated him so much, but it really did. 

“I am _not_ jealous.” He growled to the empty kitchen. 

\--

“Her sisters called themselves…” Anya furrowed her brow. “OTMA?”

Vlad chuckled, and nodded. “After the first letter of each of their names.” 

Anya scribbled something down, chewing on her lower lip as she concentrated. “They were the ‘Big Pair’. We were the ‘Little Pair.’” She said absently. 

Vlad raised his eyebrows, studying her closely as she looked up at the ceiling, clearly lost in thought. “Anya…” He began, his heart pounding wildly in his chest. “I didn’t tell you that.” He sat up straighter, despite the ache in his back. “Was that…was that a memory?”

Anya looked up sharply, as though she had been struck. Vlad gave her an easy smile, despite the sweat forming on his brow. “I don’t…think so.” She said quietly. “I…” 

“Follow the thought, Anya. Talk about what you see.” He said encouragingly. 

“I _can’t_.” She sighed, looking away from him. 

“Chasing after those…erm, memories, daydreams, whatever you want to call them, may help.” 

“I’ve been chasing daydreams for nine years now, Vlad.” She murmured softly, looking up at him with heaviness in her eyes. “How long am I supposed to chase after things that don’t stick around long enough to even give me a chance to remember?” 

“Take a deep breath, Anya.” He leaned his elbows on his knees. “I believe in you.”

Anya gave him a watery smile. “I know you do, Vlad.” She drank in a deep breath. “I’ll keep trying.” She whispered. 

The moment was broken as Dmitry burst into the theater, bright blue fabric draped over his arm. “Ta-da!” He exclaimed, hurrying across the stage to where Anya sat. “I have a delivery for you, your highness.” 

Anya quirked a brow at him, but looked with interest at the bundle in his arms. She set her notebook and pencil aside, and stood up to reach for it. Vlad watched the pair carefully, completely in the dark as to why Dmitry would bring Anya a…

“You got me a tent!” She exclaimed, lifting the edge of the skirt of the bright blue dress. Vlad watched in amusement as she peeked through the skirt up at Dmitry. 

“What are you looking for?” Dmitry asked with disdain. 

“The Russian circus!” She laughed teasingly. “I think it’s still in here!”

“Oh please!” He tossed the dress at her, and she caught it easily, nearly bursting as a fit of giggles overcame her. Dmitry smiled begrudgingly, despite the irritation still written plainly on his face. "You're welcome!" 

Vlad couldn’t help but laugh at the pair. At first, their arguments had nearly been the death of him. The way they picked on each other, their shouting matches across the empty theater, how they childishly made faces at each other when they thought the other wasn’t looking. But then, it seemed Dmitry had taken his advice, and the French lessons between them had seemed to soften the pair. 

Thank God. He was going to give up on the whole charade if they kept it up. He was far too old to be a parent to two squabbling children.

Vlad could see the beginnings of a romance, could see the way they softened around each other after vigorous arguing. It reminded him a lot of his early days with Lily, the playful back and forth banter that always preceded their...well…intimate moments. 

But his joy for such a possibility was short lived, because if his suspicions were true, if Anya really was the Grand Duchess, that would kill Dmitry, if he fell for her. But, Vlad would rather Anya fall for Dmitry, than a Bolshevik. Especially if she really was who she was pretending to be. 

He might not have been as vocal as Dmitry about his unease toward Anya’s only friend being a Bolshevik solder, but deep down, he truly was. He wondered what Anya would think if she turned out to be Anastasia, and know she had befriended a man who was against everything her family had been. 

He doubted she even knew the ancestry of her Bolshevik. And if she really was the Grand Duchess, that would make it all even worse. Vlad knew of Gleb’s father. He had been one of the guards in Yekaterinburg with the royal family. He may have even been one of the ones to…

Vlad didn’t want to think of it. More than anything, he didn’t want to picture Anya at the hands of such cruelty. He pushed it to the back of his mind as he watched Dmitry walk away with an eye roll as Anya held the dress to her chest and did a little twirl. 

“Blue is your color, my dear.” Vlad said with a smile as Anya held it out for him to inspect. 

“He did do a good job.” She admitted.

“He has his moments.” Vlad hummed.

“Not many. But he does have them.” Anya gave Vlad a secret smile, before slipping away to no doubt try it on. 

\--

Despite her teasing, the dress Dmitry picked for her really was perfect. 

The fabric was soft and flowed like water, and was the color of the Neva on a summer day. There was one too many ruffles though, so she found a pair of scissors and began to snip them away. 

Years ago, she had discovered the hidden skill of sewing. She knew without it she might have spent her few rubles on clothes far too often. Instead, she had been able to reattach buttons and take in larger clothes or even patch clothes up that might have been worn and older. Here and there, she had gotten to put the skill of sewing to use in her various jobs over her long nine year walk. 

When she was finished snipping away ruffles and taking it in a few inches to fit her better, the end result was something she was incredibly proud of. 

Perhaps if Paris didn’t work out she could settle down and become a professional dressmaker. She could save up her money and buy her own flat, content herself with a quiet life and somehow find a way to silence her dreams. 

That seemed rather unrealistic. And she didn’t want to even think about what she would do if Paris didn’t work out.

After Vlad and Dmitry went to bed, Anya treated herself to the rarity of a warm bath in the kitchens. The next morning, she awoke feeling a mix of nervousness and excitement as she daydreamed about what her day with Gleb might hold. 

She combed her long, strawberry blonde locks, distracted by the gentle curl and softness of her hair when it was freshly washed. She pinned back portions around her face in little twists against the side of her head. She had seen the style before in a discarded magazine, and while her rendition might not have looked like it did on the model, it was still better than her basic braided style she wore for work. 

For probably the first time in her nine years alone, she longed for cosmetics, though she knew she would be clueless in the art of applying it. She contented herself with pinching her cheeks and biting her lips for the slightest amount of color. 

Anya didn’t own many of her own articles of clothing, but she was thankful to have a warm sweater that wasn’t as heavy as her coat. It was brown like her boots and warm enough for the cool fall day. She wasn’t sure what Gleb had in store for her, but if they would be walking at all, she would need something to keep her bare arms warm. 

Once she was through, she stepped in front of a mirror and studied her appearance. She wasn’t any sort of grand beauty, but she was surprised to actually feel pretty for once. Anya couldn’t help but giggle and do a little spin, loving the way the soft fabric of her skirts glided along her legs. 

When she stepped out onto the stage where Vlad and Dmitry were reading an old newspaper, she hadn’t expected their reactions. 

Vlad leapt to his feet, a look of reverence on his face for a split second before he burst into a bright laugh, clapping his hands and exclaiming proud praises in French. Anya couldn’t help but laugh when he took her hand and led her in a little twirl. 

Dmitry was the one who surprised her most of all. He was eerily quiet, and she was struck by the open warmth in his face as he slowly stood up. His dark eyes scanned her face, looked her up and down once before he met her gaze again, and smiled sheepishly at her. 

Anya almost laughed, almost teased him for the bright red that was spreading across his cheeks. But she found she couldn’t find her voice. He had never looked at her like that, and it was strange to see such shock and awe in his brown eyes. 

_All because of me,_ she thought smugly, _For once, he’s impressed with me._

“Well, Dmitry? Aren’t you going to say anything?” Vlad asked with a snicker. 

“Behold the healing powers of a bath!” Dmitry sputtered. Anya’s face fell, and Vlad groaned beside her. She scowled at him, and he rubbed the back of his neck, mouth opening and closing like a fish. “I mean, uh, that dress is really beautiful.”

“Do you really think so?” Anya asked dryly. 

Dmitry stood straight, nodding quickly. “Yes, of course. It was nice on the hanger but it looks even better on you.” He laughed nervously and gestured toward her. “You should wear it!”

Anya felt Vlad sigh in disbelief beside her, and she tried not to smile when he pressed his hand to his forehead in exasperation. She looked back at Dmitry, whose face was ten shades redder than it was before. “Dima, I _am_ wearing it.”

Some of the nerves in his expression relaxed. It was only then that she realized she had called him ‘Dima’, his father’s favored nickname for him. It was surprising that he wasn’t upset by it; in fact, his smile seemed to be beaming rather than tense. “Right, right, of course! I’m just trying to give you…”

Vlad set his hands on his hips, his glasses sliding down his nose as he fixed Dmitry with a ‘look’. “A compliment?” He supplied. 

Dmitry clapped his hands together and rocked from his heels to his toes. “Yes! A compliment.” He looked back at Anya. “I’m…ah, trying to give you a compliment.” 

Anya pressed her palm to her lips, finding it harder and harder not to laugh at him. “T-thank you.” She coughed, and hoped she could conceal her giggle, but by the roll of Dmitry’s eyes, she knew he caught it. 

“Happy to help.” He swept his arms out to his sides, giving her a mocking bob of his head. “Hope your Bolshevik likes it too.” 

“Oh Dmitry.” Vlad watched as Dmitry returned to his chair, attempting to hide behind his newspaper. “You were doing so well too, my boy.” He grit through his teeth. 

Dmitry grumbled, but didn’t say anything more. 

Anya smoothed out her skirt, looking down at her boots and the flowing blue fabric, feeling more awkward the longer she stood there. Her excitement was waning the longer Dmitry sat stubbornly behind his newspaper, and despite Vlad’s happiness toward her outward appearance, she still felt the tension in his posture. Anya cleared her throat, and looked up into his tight, but kind face. “I won’t be gone too late. I don’t think.”

“Have a nice time, Anya.” Vlad smiled encouragingly before winking at her and nudging her with his elbow. “Milk him for all he’s worth.” 

\--

The breeze was cool, but the sun was high and bright in the sky, signaling the promise of a bright, warm day ahead of them. Gleb hardly could pay much mind to the nice weather, with his stomach so full of butterflies. 

Gleb Vaganov was _nervous._

He spared one look over his shoulder, looking for Anya’s familiar form amidst the passersby. _Maybe this was a bad idea,_ he thought to himself when he didn’t see her. He wanted to do something special for her, but the thought of spending an entire day with Anya made his heart want to burst. 

_Man up,_ he told himself, _you see her every day and today will be no different than any other time you’re in each other’s presence._

But it _was,_ different. Today _could_ be the day he finally owned up to his feelings for her, the day he finally told her how he feels. 

It was a long shot, but the possibility had him on edge. 

His attire alone was different to start with, his grey green uniform having been exchanged for a casual suit of brown. It was comfortable, much more comfortable than his uniform, if he was being honest. He had just been struck with the idea that he should wear something different for a change. They were celebrating, and he wanted to do something special.

For Anya. 

He smiled to himself and lifted his head again to look over his shoulder, scanning the faces of people passing by. He was certain he’d come up short, until his dark eyes landed on the face of a girl dressed all in blue. 

Anya. 

His heart lept into his throat, and he felt as though he would faint. There was his Anya, with a rosy glow in her cheeks and her usual clothes replaced with a soft blue dress. His mouth fell open, despite himself, and when he looked up into her eyes as she neared, he felt as if his heart would burst. 

Anya stopped short, her eyes widening and smile suddenly growing shy and anxious. Her light eyes looked him up and down appraisingly, and when she met his gaze again, he was warmed to find admiration within her depths. 

“Hello, Gleb.” She hummed. “You look very nice today.” 

Gleb gaped even further, which caused her to giggle. “M-me?” He laughed in disbelief. “Anya. _You_ are a vision.” His face grew hot, and he quickly looked down at his shoes nervously. 

“You’re far too kind, Gleb. Thank you.” She said shyly. Gleb could see her hands tremble, and he looked up quickly to meet her gaze, fearing she was distressed. 

Her beautiful face was bright and open, but there was a hint of excited nerves in her smile as she looked up at him expectantly. “So.” She started, quirking her brow. “What have you got in store today?” 

Gleb blinked. Yes, what were his plans again? He would have been content to stare at her all day, to simply bask in the glow of her smile and do nothing else. 

But they were celebrating. Yes. They were celebrating her life, and all that she had accomplished in it. 

He smiled sheepishly at her. “It’s a surprise, my friend.” 

Gleb held his arm out for her to take. The instant her hand came to the crook of his arm and she stepped up to his side, they both seemed to take in a sharp intake of breath at the same time. When their eyes met, a crackle of energy seemed to pass between them, the strange connection they had each felt ever since that first day they met only growing stronger. 

Gleb smiled broadly at her, his heart skipping a beat as she gave him her own. He felt a silly, warm feeling all over when she gave an excited squeal and tucked her other hand in the curve of his elbow as well as he led her away from the bridge. 

\--

Anya felt as if she could fly. 

Their day was only beginning, but she already loved it dearly. He had seemed so playful, if not a little shy, the entire walk to the river, had teased her for being surprised when he led her onto the ferry to cross over to the other side of Leningrad.

She had hardly recognized him when she walked up to the bridge that morning. He cut a fine figure in his brown suit, and without his hat, his dark hair had shone in the morning sunlight. He seemed to smile easier, without the pressure of his uniform or his duties. 

Gleb was simply a man beside her. Not an officer. Even if it was for one day, with his brown suit and her borrowed dress, she could pretend they were just Anya and Gleb, two souls who had met without the dark shadows of the past hovering over them. 

Anya held one hand above her eyes to guard them from the sun’s warm rays. Gleb was telling her something about the river, but she couldn’t make out what. His words were lost on the sound of the rushing waves, and the boat’s engine. 

Besides that, she was far too concerned with linking her dim memories to the oddly familiar sensation the ferry gave her. There was something about the distinct smell in the air, the feeling of the wind in her hair, and the bouncing of the boat that drew her to a place she knew was locked away in her memory. 

“I’m glad you’re not sick, my friend!” Gleb said, ducking his head closer to her ear. He must have picked up on the fact that she’d not heard him when she hadn’t responded to what he had first said. 

“Oh, no.” Anya said brightly, brushing her hair out of her face so she could look up at him. “It seems I’ve been born with sea legs.” 

Gleb laughed, and Anya smiled at the boisterous sound. 

Something about the ferry was familiar to her. She wouldn’t have the chance to look around to discover exactly what, because of the large bustle of people surrounding her and Gleb, along with the short distance across the river. Besides that, she was fearful of getting separated from him. 

So she kept herself close to him, and he certainly didn’t complain, or wipe the smile from off of his face. His arm had come around her back, his hand resting on the rail to keep her safely tucked into his side. Gleb was warm against the cool winds as the boat made its way across the water. 

The ferry bounced, and Anya swayed from the sudden movement. She quickly leaned into Gleb’s side, one hand clutching the railing and the other taking hold of his coat. 

“What were you saying about sea legs?” Gleb teased, laughing warmly at her. Anya blushed, shaking her head at him as a sheepish giggle escaped her lips. 

“Oh hush.” She rolled her eyes at him, causing him to laugh again. His hand on the rail came to rest over hers on the rail, ensuring her grip would be tight and secure. 

“Forgive my teasing.” He gave her hand a squeeze. “I’ll not let you tumble, my friend.” 

“What a relief.” She said, nudging him with her elbow. 

Anya smiled and closed her eyes, the wind and the sun in her face and Gleb’s warmth and laughter rejuvenating her. She hadn’t realized just how tired she had been. Not just lately, but all her life. What she could remember, anyways, had been exhausting. It had been a constant stream of job after job with loneliness and shadows always chasing her. And then, with the addition of cramming knowledge of a royal family that had the slightest possibility of being hers on top of it all, she had been more exhausted as of late. 

But this day already was bringing life to her. And they were only on a ferry across the river! She was certain Gleb could have picked the simplest of things to do for their day and she would still feel so wonderful. 

Gleb’s hand was warm and large around hers, but with her eyes closed, she could almost feel the sensation of smaller, daintier hands in hers. She could hear childish laughter and feel the sensation of spinning and then tumbling, and ghostly voices laughing names she didn’t know. 

Anya quickly opened her eyes, her stomach churning as her vision swam before her. She could not help but turn away from the view of the water, and rest her cheek against Gleb’s chest. Her heart was pounding wildly as dim images fluttered through her mind’s eye, a name that was not hers being called out from somewhere in the past. 

“Anya!” Gleb exclaimed softly, so as not to cause any attention. “Perhaps we spoke too soon on the sickness as well, hm?” He asked in a teasing tone. 

When she didn’t laugh or even smile in response, his hand fell away from hers on the rail and wrapped around her waist. “Anya? My friend, you’re shaking.” He held her steady, his dark eyes scanning her face frantically. “I was worried this might happen. No need to be embarrassed. This is quite normal when on the water. I myself am not feeling too well either.” He sighed. “We shall dock any moment, and then perhaps we can find some tea to help settle your stomach.” 

At that innocent statement, Anya couldn’t help but laugh. She lifted her head from the warmth of his chest and looked up at him. “Tea is your solution for everything, isn’t it?”

He smiled, though the concern was still there on his face. “Of course it is.”

She waved a hand in the air. “I’m alright, Gleb. Forgive my theatrics.” Despite her insistence, he didn’t let her go, and she was rather thankful. The blurred memory or daydream went away quickly as ever, and her legs felt steady again, but she still didn’t trust herself on her own two feet. 

“There’s nothing to forgive.” He murmured, directing his gaze out onto the water, past a clump of people to his right that was blocking his view of the front of the boat. “I am just now anxious to get you off of this boat.” 

Anya giggled, and brought her hand to rest on his chest. “Don’t worry yourself so much, Gleb. I’m anything but frail.” 

“Yes, yes I know.” He looked down at her, and smiled sheepishly. “I suppose I didn’t consider that you might not have ever been on a boat. Even one as simple as a ferry.” 

Anya pursed her lips, distracted by the thudding of his heartbeat against her palm. “I’ve been on a boat.” At this, he raised his eyebrows in surprise. “I can’t remember when exactly, of course, but I feel as though I have.” 

Gleb smiled at her, and gave her waist a squeeze. He held her securely against his side for the duration of the trip across the river, neither of them bothered by the necessity of it at all. In fact, Anya found she rather liked his hand about her waist and her own on his chest. She might have wrapped her own arms around him, but the boat was docking on the other side before she knew it. 

She could see reluctance in his eyes as his hand slipped away from her waist. She was quick to bring a smile back to his face by slipping her hand in his arm, just as she always did, and allow him to lead her off of the ferry. 

\--

Gleb wished he could lock up every tiny moment of his day with Anya in his box of memories. 

Every laugh, every time she said his name, every single touch of her hand, the warmth of her smile. Everything she did seemed to be like magic. Every swish of her blue skirts, every brush of her long strawberry blonde hair, every squealing laugh or squeeze of his arm. He wanted to lock it all away and never forget any of it as long as he lived. 

He doubted he ever would. If he kept things up, if he stopped over thinking and just let himself be, let himself be with _her_ , then he would be on the road to having Anya at his side for the rest of eternity. He would never have to fear being without her, if he was just himself, without the fear of his duties or his own insecurities clouding his mind. 

The flower in his coat pocket felt heavy all day. He had had many an opportunity to give it to her, but anytime he considered doing so, he chickened out. Every moment with her seemed to be perfect, and yet, not at all the _right_ or perfect moment for such a proclamation. 

He nearly did it when they stopped to watch a street performer play on his violin. Anya had leaned against him, her cheek pressed to his shoulder as big tears rolled down her cheeks from the beautiful song the old violinist was playing. She had laughed it off and blushed and stammered, and the way the sunshine had hit her eyes made them seem ever bluer. He nearly slipped the flower into her hand then, nearly whispered how much he loved and adored her then and there, but then the violinist had approached her, had given her a bright yellow daffodil, and the moment had been gone. 

Still, Gleb had hope that his moment would come. He just needed to be ready for it. 

With her street sweeping job, she’d walked all around Leningrad, had even come across the river to this side, as insane as it was to think of, given the distance. They were a great deal away from the Nevsky Prospekt. To picture Anya sweeping across the long bridge on the other side of Leningrad to reach this side of the river was baffling. 

While she had been on this side of the river before, she seemed to be seeing it all for the first time. “Well, I sort of am.” She had laughed when he’d said that. “I’ve only seen the ground in Leningrad for nearly nine years.” 

It pained him to think so. As much as he loathed the overly opulent and ghostly bourgeois ornaments left behind from the days of the royals, he still found beauty in so much of Leningrad’s structures. The former days of St. Petersburg had been shadowed in his mind, but that didn’t mean the city wasn’t beautiful. No, of course, he found beauty in every corner of Russia. But having experienced the pain of living under the royals for far too long, well, it left him with a rather bitter taste in his mouth whenever he saw the remains of what they had left behind.

Anya was lucky to have forgotten it all, though he knew she was haunted by that fact. Despite his own anger and bitterness, he refused to cloud her bright eyes or her special day. In fact, he found himself pointing out significant buildings as they walked, even telling her facts about the former days of Russia. She surprised him by knowing a great deal of it’s histories. 

While he did have a great deal of ideas for the day, they wouldn’t be able to do everything, of course. “All in good time, I’m sure,” he’d laughed, “We have all the time in the world,” she’d replied, which warmed his heart greatly.

But much to his chagrin, she seemed particularly struck by the Winter Palace. 

She had been initially fascinated by the cotton candy he’d found for her in a candy shop they had passed. He hadn’t been able to stop her from filling a paper bag with other sweets and thrusting a handful of her own rubles out to the shopkeeper before Gleb could offer to purchase them for her. He had been in the midst of playfully scolding her for having such a sweet tooth when she’d spotted the cotton candy machine, and then, his scolding had fallen on deaf ears. 

But the frothy treat had been forgotten as they passed the Winter Palace. Gleb had been fighting his own temptation of sneaking bites of her cotton candy, knowing full well how bad it was for his body. But sweets had been such a rarity growing up, that the few times he’d gotten them, he’d gorged himself on the treats and found himself sick. Apparently his own sweet tooth was one to be scolded, and she even shot him a teasing look when she caught him pinching off a piece of pink fluff. 

“Can we go inside?” She asked, pointing to the Winter Palace with her stick of cotton candy, just out of his reach. “It’s so…beautiful.” Her bright eyes scanned the top of the large building, her breath catching in her throat. 

Gleb swallowed thickly, the cotton candy seeming to stick to his throat instead of truly vanishing on his tongue. “Well.” He shrugged. “I suppose we could.” 

Anya tore her gaze away from the building to look up at him. She gave his arm a squeeze, and he sighed, masking his disgust with a calm smile. “You don’t want to.” She hummed. “Why?” 

He blinked. “Uh.” He coughed awkwardly. “It’s just awfully large, Anya. Nearly six buildings. I fear we would run out of time and you wouldn’t get to see everything.” 

“Oh.” She eyed him warily, removing her hand from his arm to pluck another piece of cotton candy. “You’re sure that’s it?” She murmured.

“Yes, Anya.” He furrowed his brow. “Why do you think otherwise?” 

Anya waved her hand in the air. “I don’t know. You just seem…bothered.” She gave him a smile. “But nevermind. Another day as you said, hm? Perhaps we can plan for it.” 

Gleb felt conflicted. While he did not want to go into the palace and other museum buildings and be smack dab in the middle of the opulence and excess of the former royals, he wanted to make her happy, especially on this special day. To think he had disappointed her even in the slightest bit made him wince. 

“Gleb…” Anya crooned, plucking another piece off and holding it out to him. He stared down at the pink fluff, hardly thinking twice before he took it and popped it into his mouth. “You needn’t worry. I see that look on your face, _comrade_.” She drawled. “Another day.” 

“Another day.” He murmured. “If you’re sure. This is your day after all and I don’t want to-“

Anya thrust another piece into his face, and he had no choice but to take it and eat it. This much sugar would no doubt send him into shock, but she was laughing again, and insistent, and how could he resist both her and sugar?

“Come on, my friend.” She said, slipping her hand into his arm. 

“It’s just…” He brought his other hand to rest against her fingers in his arm. “The opulence of it all, knowing the royals that caused so much pain once dwelled there while the rest of us… suffered…” 

“Gleb…” Anya crooned. “You don’t need to explain.”

“But I feel like I do, Anya.” He drew in a deep breath. 

He had never told her the truth about his father, about Yekaterinburg, about the war in depth, and he would go as long as he could without marring her mind with such thoughts. But he could seen the forlorn look on her face, her bewilderment when he had turned down her idea of going inside. It would be truly harmless, he knew, to go inside, to show her the fine art pieces and the grand rooms of the palace. But it would be a cruel reminder, and as much as he wanted to please her and show her things she’d never seen before, he wasn’t so sure he could stand this in particular. 

“I understand, Gleb.” She said softly, dragging her thumb back and forth over his arm. He closed his eyes briefly from the gentle touch. “Let’s keep going. Perhaps there are other things you can show me.” She leaned closer to him. “We needn’t darken our beautiful day by digging up old pains, Gleb. Please, do not fret so much.” 

Gleb gave her hand a gentle squeeze, and she smiled warmly at him. “Y-yes, Anya. You’re right.” He met her gaze, feeling the urge to proclaim his love for her right then and there. Instead, he drew his hand away from hers, stuffing it into his pocket to toy with the bejeweled flower. “Why don’t we…walk through the Palace Square?” 

“Okay.” She nodded at him, and then held out the leftover cotton candy. “Here. You look like you need this more than me, comrade.” She said teasingly, and despite everything inside of him telling him to decline, he found himself taking it and happily finishing off the fluff, its sweetness hardly anything compared to the sweetness in Anya’s eyes. 

\--

The Palace Square was nothing like Anya had ever seen, and it only made her want to go inside the grand palace and museum even more. 

There was a faint memory tucked somewhere deep inside that she couldn’t unlock that brought her back to this very place, much like feeling the ferry had given her, but much stronger. She wished so desperately that she could remember how or why. It was much like the feeling she got in the Yusupov Palace, how she had remembered being there long before, though she couldn’t really remember how. 

She wanted so desperately go walk within the Hermitage’s rooms, to see if anything clicked. But Gleb’s apprehension, his words about the past, the pain going inside would clearly dig up, was enough to keep her curiosity at bay. 

As it was, he seemed ill at ease in the large square, but he didn’t complain, and in fact, he provided a few comments and facts about the architecture and designs as they walked about. He wore a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, and she took note of the fact that his arm beneath her hand felt rather tense. 

Anya knew Gleb had an appreciation for the arts, so for him to not want to go into a large museum full of artifacts and art pieces was enough for Anya to know how truly uneasy he was. She distracted him with her usual jokes and teasing, determined to make the day as bright and wonderful as it had been at the start. 

And the sugary treats they had both consumed seemed to help. Before she knew it they were moving on from the Palace Square and the Hermitage altogether. It felt like they were in their own little world of laughter and ease, and Anya found herself forgetting all about the Grand Duchess Anastasia and everything else on the other side of the river. Somehow, despite still being in Leningrad, they could be different people here.

Just Anya and Gleb. Two friends, sharing a beautiful day together.

The day would have seemed so simple to anyone else. But Anya adored every moment of it. All they seemed to really be doing was walking and talking, much like they did every day, but it was all the more special to be doing it with no limitations. No Dmitry or Vlad waiting for her, no streetsweeping, no patrolling or duties for him.

Even if it was all just a big day of pretending, just pretending like they could be two simple people, and nothing else, it was magical. 

Gleb took her to a beautiful park, piles of leaves that she didn’t have to sweep up as far as the eye could see. He laughed when she broke away from him, her blue skirts twirling around her legs as she jumped in the piles, running through the park like a madwoman, no doubt. And he followed after her, laughing and taking her by the hand to ensure she wouldn’t stumble. 

He even managed to rent a paddleboat for an hour, and took her on a little boat trip on the small lake in the middle of the park. Anya had leaned back, sweater discarded as the sun warmed her skin, the breeze blowing her hair off of her neck. The little boat trip had been a quiet one, the two of them sharing warm looks as Gleb paddled, as she allowed her hand to drift in the cool water. 

Gleb even sang for her as he rowed, old songs she had never heard before. They had just floated for a bit, his hands gripping the oars tightly as his dark gaze lingered over her face. Anya felt like the world was standing still, especially with being out on a boat in the middle of a lake, just the two of them. His voice was warm and steady, and she found herself wishing she could crawl inside the sound and never have another worry ever again. 

Something stirred within her, much like that rainy night when she had curled herself against his side beneath the quilt. Before she knew it, her hands had crept along the oars to rest over his, her bright blue eyes staring up into his own. 

Anya _adored_ this man, and for one day, she could pretend that the deeper connection they both knew was there and yet did nothing about…had a chance. 

After that thought passed through her head, she felt as though her cheeks went aflame at every little thing he did. When his fingers brushed hers, when he guided her through the movements of rowing, when his eyes lingered over her face and his song switched from an old lullaby to a song of tender love, she felt fluttering in her stomach and like her face was on fire. 

Eventually, they had to return the boat and start thinking about returning to the other side of the river, considering the day was waning. Anya hadn’t been able to help herself from pouting, and Gleb had laughed. 

“Perhaps we could return and revisit the stroganoff recipe, hm?” He had suggested, giving her hand on his arm a gentle squeeze. 

It was the only thing that could make her smile after his suggestion of returning, and when he caught sight of it, his own smile lit up his face. 

They took their time returning to the docks, drinking in the sight of the afternoon sunlight on each building they had already passed. Anya felt like the colors on this side of the river were so much different. Brighter somehow, more full of warmth and life. She knew that was a silly thought. The colors were the same on this side of the river as they were on the other. Even if it didn’t feel like it here, Gleb was still a deputy commissioner and she was still an amnesiac street sweeping orphan. 

Anya smiled wanly to herself as they stood on the edge of the river to wait for the ferry. As much as she loved the daydream they had been living in all day, she had to face reality. 

But perhaps she could face reality tomorrow. Today was theirs. 

“I’ve never seen the Neva sparkle so much.” Anya said softly, stepping past Gleb to get closer to the water’s edge. “It seems so magical.” 

A fumbling and then a clicking sound behind her caught her attention, and she peeked over her shoulder to find Gleb fiddling with a little brown box. Anya turned, and he looked up at her with an irritated expression. 

“Is that a camera?” She asked curiously. Anya blushed as she put the pieces together and realized he had snapped her picture. She probably ruined it by turning to look at him, given the scowl on his face. “You shouldn’t waste your film on me.” She laughed.

Gleb’s jaw dropped in shock, and then it dissolved into a laugh. “It’s hardly a waste.” He scoffed. “And besides, I have yet to see anything else worth ‘wasting’ my film on.” Gleb said with a sly smile. Her blush deepened, and he chuckled in satisfaction. “But, yes. Its state commissioned, of course. I wouldn’t have much need of one for my own personal use.” He winked at her. “Aside from today.” 

“You’ve had a camera all day and you’re only just now bringing it out?” She scolded playfully, and he laughed quietly and ducked his head. 

“Truthfully, I forgot I even brought it until this moment.” He said sheepishly. “Forgive me, won’t you?”

“I suppose I can be persuaded.” With a smile, Anya stepped toward him, her hands coming to brush over the edge of the box. “It’s nice. Fancy.” 

“Why don’t you try it?” He held it out to her. “It’s simple enough.” 

“I’d hate to break it and get you into trouble.” She looked up at him, but he just smiled and waved his hand at her. 

“I trust you implicitly.” He placed it carefully into her hands and then playfully added, “Just know that there will be a flogging with your name all over it if you do drop it.” 

Anya laughed, but she was still about to decline again, despite his obvious teasing. But she found it fit into her hands easily. A strange sort of muscle memory washed over her, and she was surprised to find her fingers moving into position without his guidance. 

Anya peered down into the box, smiling as Gleb’s chest came into view. His brown wool suit jacket was a much nicer sight to her than his grey green uniform encrusted with medals. At least to her. She tilted the camera until his face came into view, and she laughed brightly to find him crossing his eyes at her. 

“And you thought I was wasting film before.” He chortled, face growing serious again. 

Anya looked up from the camera to smile at her friend, and she tilted her head to the side to study him. “You’ve made today so special, Gleb. I think we need a few pictures to remember this day by.” She sent him a playful smirk. “If only we had it earlier, we might have ‘wasted’ your film on our boat trip, or the cotton candy.” 

Gleb laughed, but nodded in agreement, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. Anya took a step back and peered into the camera again. She ensured he was in focus, that the light was good, and that her hands were as steady as they could be. Gleb made a serious face, one she had seen too many times when they walked together, how he would scan the crowds and fix troublemakers with the same expression.

Anya shivered. She’d not seen that face all day. She had only seen Gleb’s smile, Gleb the man, not Gleb the officer. If she took a picture of his expression now, she would not capture how he had been for the entire day. She would not capture the image of Gleb at ease, laughing and smiling and stealing her cotton candy and looking at her like she hung the sun stars and moon in the sky. 

With a huff, she peeked up at him and he quirked his brow at her, impatient for her to take the picture of him that he clearly didn’t want. Without a warning, she stuck her tongue out at him, causing him to laugh in surprise. 

As quick as she could, Anya snapped the picture. She knew with his sudden movement, it wouldn’t be a clear photo, but she prayed and hoped that she had captured his smile.

Once she was done, she handed it back to him. “Perhaps we should have one taken of the two of us together.” Anya suggested, her fingers hovering over his. 

Gleb’s eyes grew wide at her suggestion, and she nearly laughed when he immediately started looking around them to find someone who could. After wrangling a young lady standing by who was also waiting for the ferry and showing her how to use the camera, Gleb and Anya stood side by side with the river at their backs. 

The breeze was picking up, and Anya kept having to brush her hair out of her face. She looked down at her skirts, the girl huffing impatiently as the ferry approached. Finally, Gleb curled his fingers beneath Anya’s chin to lift her face, and any worry about her appearance seemed to disappear from the look in his dark eyes and the smile he wore. 

Before either of them could look toward the camera, the girl had snapped a picture. When they both laughed in surprise, she snapped another one, and then thrust the camera back into Gleb’s hands before scurrying off to be one of the first ones on the ferry. 

“Now I have to get the film developed, don’t I?” Gleb teased as he stowed it away in the deep pocket of his coat.

“You’d better!” Anya laughed, taking his arm as he held it out to her to escort her to the ferry. 

“I promise, Anya. I’ll even get them framed, if they turn out good.” 

Anya’s heart warmed. “That would be nice.” She whispered. 

\--

Gleb was glad he bought all the ingredients for another batch of stroganoff ahead of time. He had hoped that there would be time for them to return to his apartment and do this, but he hadn’t been sure if she would feel up to it. 

With a smile, he looked at Anya. She stood beside him at the counter, humming along to the record he had put on. Her long hair was swept up and piled on top of her head, a few wispy strands getting in her face as she carefully chopped mushrooms while he cooked the beef. 

The day had been perfect. As simple as it was, Anya seemed enthusiastic about everything and anything. 

He listened intently to the sound of her voice as she hummed, her mind wandering back to their little moments throughout the day. He was struck most by the looks they had shared in the boat, how her hands had slipped over his own on the oars. 

Gleb glanced over his shoulder at his coat jacket, where the little flower still rested. He then looked back at her just as she set the knife aside. She sent him a smile and dropped the mushrooms into the pan along with the beef. 

“Let’s try not to burn it this time.” She said teasingly, moving to wash her hands in the sink. 

Gleb chuckled, sending her a warning glance when she snuck a candy out of the bag she had purchased on the table. She sent him an innocent look back, before bursting into a fit of giggles. 

Did she love him too? He wondered, noting how at ease she seemed, how happy she had been all day. And then that moment in the boat, and all the moments before and in between…

“Gleb?” Anya laughed, suddenly beside him again, her fingers brushing against his arm. 

He jumped, the feeling of her skin against his own throwing him off for a moment until he realized he had slid his sleeves up to his elbows before they had started cooking. “Oh, uh, yes?” He chuckled. 

She blushed, and he watched in fascination as her pale skin turned pink. “I just had an odd question, uh.” She giggled, and looked out the window before asking, “What would you do if you weren’t an officer?” 

The question startled him. He looked at her, his eyes narrowing slightly. “I can’t see myself doing anything else.” He shrugged. “Being an officer is what I’ve always wanted to do.” Gleb met her gaze, unable to quiet read her expression. “I don’t see the need in picturing any other life than this one.” 

“Of course, Gleb. You’ve worked hard for all that you’ve accomplished.” She smiled warmly at him, and it eased the slight tension he felt in his shoulders. “But everyone considers what it would be like to be someone else. It’s an innocent enough fantasy.” 

Gleb relaxed, reaching to brush a few strands of hair out of her eyes. “I suppose that’s true.” He hummed, looking back down at the pan, pushing the food around, pursing his lips as it hissed from the heat. “Though personally, I don’t think I’ve ever really considered doing anything else. Maintaining order and justice in Russia is all I’ve ever wanted to do.” 

He looked away from the pan to meet her gaze again, only to find a funny sort of expression on her face. “Perhaps you could be a botanist.” She teased, gesturing over her shoulder to his little garden on the balcony. 

Gleb laughed. “Indeed. If I were to ever lose my position, knock on wood, at least I’ll have _that_ to keep me busy.” 

Anya giggled and looked back out the window. “I’ve thought about what I would do so many times. I’ve held so many different jobs over the past nine years. The amount of things I would do if money were no object is infinite.” 

“Would you ever consider becoming a wife?” The question spilled out of him before he could stop it, and he found he could not meet her gaze. His face felt boiling hot, and he nearly ran to the window to feel the cool afternoon breeze on his face. 

The question did not make her laugh in his face, but it also didn’t make her throw herself into his arms. He could see her smile out of the corner of his eye, the gentle pink flush that crept along her cheeks. “I don’t know.” She shrugged. “I guess I’ve never really thought of it before.” Anya hummed. “It’s hard to really picture yourself getting married when you’re…well…me.” She snickered. Before he could say anything, she continued, shrugging her shoulders. “Maybe one day. Though I don’t know who would ever want to marry an amnesiac street sweeper.” She laughed, nudging him with her elbow, but he found he could not laugh along. 

_Me,_ he nearly screamed, _Anya can’t you see?_

But of course she couldn’t see. Even after a day like today that they had shared, he still felt as if there was this invisible wedge between them. Until he could man up and just tell her how he felt, just to see what she would say in return, there would always be that wedge. He glanced back at his coat, where the flower was still hiding. 

“And what about you, comrade?” She crooned. “You can’t tell me you’ve never entertained thoughts of matrimony.” 

Gleb sputtered out a laugh. _Oh, if you only knew._ Anya giggled at him, and he glanced at her nervously before looking back down at the pan. “Oh, I have, actually.” He stuttered. This was it, he could do it, he could. “I can’t say that my schedule has allowed for a lot of entertaining of such ideas, though. Plus, squiring you around takes up a great deal of time.” Or maybe he couldn't.

“Oh, sure, blame me for your bachelor lifestyle.” She laughed, and though he felt like retching, he laughed along with her. “It’s just as well anyway. You’d better perfect your mother’s stroganoff recipe before you bring a lady home.” 

Gleb smiled, his heart warming despite the pain that was now spreading. He nudged her with his elbow as he reached for the salt. “Haven’t I already?” He hummed mysteriously, finally looking her in the eye. He nearly teased her, said something about her being the only lady he’d ever brought home, the only woman he would _ever_ bring home, but he came up short from the stunned look in her bright blue eyes. 

There was something startling about them that made his heart skip a beat. But then she was laughing, and blushing, and she _knew_ he wasn’t talking about the stroganoff recipe. 

The subject died out, but her blush didn’t, and if she stepped closer to him as they cooked, he might have just been imagining it. 

\--

Gleb and Anya made it through the cooking of stroganoff without burning it or themselves. Anya ate every bite, finding that she actually did like the dish now. 

Maybe it was because they prepared the meal _together._ Gleb sat across from her at the small dining table, humming under his breath as he pushed his food about his plate. It was a little habit of his, she noticed. One of the many little things about him that had caught her attention. 

Ever since their conversation about marriage, the air seemed to have changed around them. Anya wasn’t oblivious to his secret little smiles while they cooked, the way he watched her as she stirred the stroganoff, how his arm brushed hers every so often or how he bent closer to her to reach for things.

And she couldn’t help doing little things back. She smiled to herself, thinking how he had jumped when her hand passed over his back as she stepped past him for a dish rag or how she’d let her hand rest over his own as he stirred the sauce for the stroganoff. 

They were on the other side of the river again, but the day wasn’t over. For now, they could be these people who might have had a chance, without the outside world to flood in and complicate everything. 

She spared him a glance, her heart skipping a beat when he smiled at her. Had he been thinking of her when he brought up marriage? The idea seemed crazy, that a man of his high esteem would ever want a girl like her. But then again, their friendship had all started with them being equals, hadn’t it? He didn’t see her as a street mouse like anyone else in Leningrad might have. 

Anya really had never considered marrying anyone. Paris had been too looming of a dream, the possibility of her family waiting for her too distracting from anything else. She had never entertained those ideas, though there were nights when she would hug herself when she fell asleep, pretending a handsome prince was holding her safe and warm… 

Gleb suddenly got to his feet, breaking her from her thoughts, and Anya hardly had a chance to look up and question him before he was hurrying past her. She turned in her chair, brows knitting together in confusion as he rushed into his bedroom. 

“Gleb?” Anya asked warily. “Is everything okay?” 

“Of course! I just…” He started, before poking his head out the door. “Close your eyes.” 

She pursed her lips. “Why?” 

“Please, Anya.” He laughed. “Every good birthday celebration needs a surprise.” 

“The entire day has been a surprise!” She exclaimed. 

“Regardless, just, close your eyes and hold out your hands.” He pleaded. “Stop being so stubborn.”

“I can’t help it.” Anya laughed, reluctantly closing her eyes and holding her hands out. Once his footsteps appeared behind her, she giggled to herself and said, “If you’re about to put a frog in my hand, Gleb Vaganov, I will be quite upset with you. Just a forewarning.” _Besides, that’s_ my _prank._ A voice somewhere inside of her teased. 

Gleb halted at her side, groaning under his breath. “Damn, you found me out.” 

Anya’s eyes flew open, and she looked up at him to scold him just as he placed something heavy into her open palms. He smiled sheepishly at her before taking his seat again, and she shot him a look before holding up what he had placed into her hands. 

She gasped in surprise to find that he had placed two books that were tied together with a pink ribbon into her hands. She moved her plate aside to set the books down, staring at them reverently. Her hands hovered over the bow, and she looked up at him warily as he leaned his chin into his hand to watch her reaction. 

“Open it, Anya. They’re yours.” He smiled warmly at her. “Happy Birthday.”

She grinned before caressing the ribbon and carefully untying it. The first book was a journal. It crackled when she opened it, and she couldn’t help but take a deep breath of the sweet scent of the creamy pages, and when Gleb chuckled, she blushed again. 

The second was his mother’s book of fairytales. At the sight of it, she gasped and drew her hands away, her wide eyes lifting to meet his gaze. 

“Gleb…you’re giving _this_ to _me_?” 

He nodded, his warm smile growing wider. Anya caressed the cover, smiling down at it before looking at him with a slight shake of her head. “Gleb…I can’t take your mother’s book.” 

He frowned. “Of course you can, Anya. I want you to have it. _She_ would want you to have it.” 

“But it’s so special to you. I’ve not…I’ve not had the best track record with books, I’m afraid.” She glared at her plate, Vera’s sneer swimming into her mind’s eye. 

“Oh, Anya.” Gleb hummed. “Two instances that were not your fault is hardly reason enough to never trust you with another book again. Think of all the books we’ve shared over this year, hm?” He reached across the table and rested his hand on her arm. “Please, Anya. I want you to have it. I’ve wanted you to have it for some time now.” 

Anya felt her eyes spark with tears, and she reached her hand over to give his fingers a gentle squeeze. “Only if you’re certain.” 

“I am, I am.” He murmured, surprising her by bringing her hand to his lips and pressing a kiss to the side of her palm. Anya gasped quietly, drawing her hand back shyly as she looked down at the books that were now in her possession. 

“I thought perhaps the journal would be a good way at jotting down whatever memories you do have. Or even whatever snippets of dreams you might remember.” He shrugged. “Or, really, you can log whatever you’d like, Anya. It’s yours.” 

“Mine.” She whispered, tearing her gaze away from the book of fairytales to the journal. “It’s beautiful, Gleb.” She hummed, trailing her fingers over the soft leather cover. “Thank you, my dear friend.” Anya lifted her light eyes to meet his, and before she knew it, she was standing up and coming to his side. 

Gleb looked up at her, straightening in his seat. Before he could stand, she wrapped her arms around his neck, giving him a brisk hug before pulling away, her hands sliding over his shoulders as she stood straight again. 

“You’re welcome.” He said quietly. 

They studied each other for a long moment, smiling dumbly at one another before Gleb stood up. He folded his hands behind his back, giving her a brief nod. “Why don’t we clean up and I’ll make us some tea, hm?”

Anya beamed at him, giving his arm a squeeze before turning and dutifully scooping up their dirty dishes and taking them to the sink. As he made the tea, she washed the dishes, the phonograph and running water the only sounds in the apartment. 

Already Anya was thinking of the many things she might record in her new journal. She couldn’t remember ever having a journal before. Not a real one of her own, that is. She had written on scraps of newspaper after she left the hospital, but none of the jumbled memories made any sense, and the scraps ended up becoming fire starter rather than kept and saved. 

She glanced at him as he pulled two tea cups out of the cupboard, the slight sway of his arms as he hummed along to the music that poured out of the phonograph. His easy posture and open expression made her smile. She leaned against the counter, watching his easy movements and locking the sight away in her memory, longing for a pen so she could write down every detail right then and there in _her_ journal.

Once he was finished and the water for the tea was boiling, he looked at her and leaned on the counter beside her, continuing his humming as he crossed his arms over his chest. Anya fought the urge to lean against his side, to press her cheek against his shoulder. 

Things felt heavier between them. It was almost like the air around them was becoming more and more intimate. She should have fought against that feeling, but truth be told, she was enjoying it too much. And besides, the day wasn’t over yet. They didn’t _have_ to address reality until tomorrow. 

Anya pushed away from the counter, looking up at him with a warm smile. “We should dance.” She suggested, glancing toward the phonograph before looking back at him. 

Gleb sputtered. “We should…what?” 

“Dance!” She laughed, a nervous, jittery feeling arising within her. “You do dance, don’t you?” 

“Well…I…do _you?_ ” He seemed to be having a hard time grasping at something to say, his eyes growing wide when she nodded at him, which only caused her to giggle nervously again. Thankfully he recovered, giving her a nervous smile. “Yes. Just…no polka.” He said teasingly. “We would have one angry landlady at the door.” 

Anya laughed in disbelief, picturing a previous dance lesson where Vlad had swept her around the stage at the Yusupov Palace. She had cried out in excitement and giddiness, Dmitry clapping out a beat as Vlad twirled and bounced her around. It was easy to picture a man like Vlad doing the polka, but to even picture Gleb doing it was laughable. 

She contained her giggles and held her hands out to him. “I suppose we shall just have to make do, won’t we?” 

Gleb looked down at her open hands before looking at her reverently. He then nodded and slipped his hands into hers. She took in a sharp breath, giving him a sheepish smile. He chuckled and they stepped into the open space between the living room and the kitchen. 

The record scratched as the song changed, and Anya glanced at it with a smile as the beginning strains of a new song began to play. It was elegant and smooth, but there was something dark to it that made her shiver. It was so beautiful, she nearly cried from the sound. 

“That’s the song from the boat, isn’t it?” She murmured, recognizing the words of love as the same song Gleb had sung earlier. 

Gleb didn’t answer, just chuckled and distracted her by bringing his hand to her waist. His other hand remained in hers, and she felt her cheeks flush as she rested her free hand against his shoulder, the heat of his skin beneath his simple white shirt sending a little thrill through her. 

As much as she didn’t want to admit it, reality was creeping up faster and faster in the back of her mind. This was a dangerous game to play. After the winter, she would be gone. To entertain these moments, these feelings, would just make it all the more painful. Anya should have been distancing herself from him. She should not have ever let it get this far. 

But it had, and there was no going back now. And Anya didn’t _want_ to. 

It would hurt when she was in Paris, and separated from him. But it would be worth it in the end, she knew it. And who was really to say that would be the last time they saw each other? Perhaps she would return one day, perhaps she would apologize. And he would forgive her, wouldn’t he? 

“Anya.” Gleb chuckled, and she gasped as the rumble of his voice vibrated against her hand at his chest. He was moving them in a slow dance, a simple four steps back and forth, and had apparently been doing so this whole time as she was lost in thought. How funny it seemed that dancing with him was just the same as breathing, whereas dancing with Dmitry was an utter train wreck. 

Most things with Dmitry were a train wreck, she thought with a smile, looking up to meet Gleb’s dark eyes. 

“You seemed so far away just now.” He hummed. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, of course.” She murmured, giving his hand a squeeze. “Today has just been perfect, Gleb. I was thinking about it. That’s all.” 

Gleb smiled, and she laughed as he gave her a little twirl. “You’re an awfully good dancer for being a street sweeper.” He said teasingly. 

“I was just thinking the same thing about you, deputy commissioner.” 

Their shared laughter bounced off the walls, the combined sound pulling on her heartstrings. She suddenly wanted nothing more than to bury her face in his chest. She wanted to hold him close, to breathe in his scent, to be content and happy here in his home, in his arms, as long as she lived. 

He spun her again, and she giggled once more, the feeling of her necklace bouncing against her chest exactly the wakeup call she needed. _Paris,_ her heart screamed, _Paris._

She stumbled slightly, and he caught her, holding her still a moment. “Forgive me, my friend, perhaps I’ve spun you too much.” 

“Is there such a thing as too much spinning?” She giggled. He held her closer, and she shivered, despite the warmth of his hand through the soft fabric of her dress. “How did you get so light on your feet, Gleb Vaganov?”

Gleb chuckled. “You can thank my mother for that.” He said, his voice filling with warmth as they swayed ever so slightly. “I don’t have two left feet all because of her.” 

Anya grinned. “I have four things to thank her for now.” She hummed. 

“Four things?” He asked, tilting his head to the side. 

“Yes, four things.” She smiled cryptically, considering whether or not she would make him guess or if she should just come right out and say it. She giggled, and decided. “First off, for a stroganoff recipe I actually like, when it’s not burned.” 

He laughed. “I doubt I’ll ever get it up to her standards though, my friend.”

“Hush. That’s what I’m here for.” She teased. 

“Very true.” If he pulled her closer, she might have been imagining things. “And what’s the second thing?”

“Oh, your knowledge of dance, of course. I’m safe from any bruised toes today.” Today, perhaps, but tomorrow back at the palace…that would be another story.

He chuckled again. “And the third?” 

“Her book of fairytales that you gifted me, of course.” 

“Of course.” He nodded. “So, then, the fourth?” 

Their dance had gotten slower, and Anya knew she wasn’t imagining it that they were closer than before. She slipped her hand out of his, and rested both hands on his chest, her heart pounding wildly in her chest. Alarm bells were ringing in her head, especially when he slowly brought his other hand brush a strand of hair back behind her ear, his thumb dragging a featherlight touch over her jaw. 

“You, of course.” She finally said, her face growing hot and her heart pounding wildly.

Anya realized his own heart was thudding away rather quickly beneath her hands, and she could not help but giggle softly under her breath at his shocked expression. His eyes grew darker, and his smile softer, and she was taken back to that day after Vera ruined her book. The reverence and comfort in his eyes, the feeling as if he thought she hung the stars. She shivered, and tapped her fingertips against his chest anxiously. “I spent so long alone, and then you came along and brightened everything up, you know? So…I have her to thank for that.” She babbled, needing to fill the charged silence with _something._

Gleb bent his head, his dark eyes pinning her into place. His thumb caressed her cheek again, and Anya fought the urge to close her eyes from the warm comfort of the touch. 

“You won’t ever have to worry about being without me, Anya. I promise you that.” He whispered. “I will always be here for you” 

Anya smiled, shivering as his forehead brushed against her own. His lips were suddenly so much closer. She blushed as she realized that he was going to kiss her, and despite the alarm bells in her head, despite the knowledge that she would be gone soon creeping up inside, she realized she _wanted_ him to kiss her. That she had _always_ wanted him to kiss her. 

Just as her eyes closed, as the heat of his breath brushed across her lips, a sharp ringing echoed throughout the apartment. Anya gasped, and jumped away from him in surprise, looking all around the room frantically for the source of the noise. 

“Anya…” He laughed quietly, a comforting hand resting on her shoulder. “It’s just the kettle.” He said encouragingly, and she blushed as she realized there must have been fear in her eyes from the startling sound. 

Slowly, she looked up at him, watching as he stepped away from her to turn off the fire and tend to the pot. He kept his back to her for a long moment, and she watched his shoulders rise and fall with great effort, as if he was breathing deeply, trying to calm his racing heart, just like she was. Clarity washed over her as she realized they had really been about to kiss. 

Her rational side told her it was better if they didn’t, that it would only complicate things more than they already were. But the rest of her was fighting with her rational side about not going over to him in that moment and throwing her arms around him, initiating a kiss that would complicate and change everything but would be the perfect end to a perfect day. 

She noticed how he turned with much reluctance. He raked his hand through his dark hair, and when he looked at her, her heart nearly stopped. 

Gleb Vaganov loved her. 

It was written plainly on his face, and she longed to hear him say those three words to her. How precious such a statement would sound on his voice. How valuable it would be, for her only friend in life to say such a thing. 

But then what could she say in return? To say it back and then flee to Paris would be like stabbing him in the back. Even though her heart was singing, even though she wanted nothing more than to be in love with him, she couldn’t let herself be. Not fully, anyways. 

Anya always had a certain kind of love for him. How could she not, when he was the only one in the entire world to ever show her such kindness? How could she not, when he had valued her from the start, when she was just Anya the orphan, the amnesiac street sweeper, and not a possible Grand Duchess? 

Of course, she realized with sad clarity, that he could never love her if she was the Grand Duchess. 

That fact alone calmed her stuttering heart, but also brought about a new anxiety. Anya smoothed her hands over her dress, looking away from the truth in his dark eyes. She needed to get out of there. She needed to get out of there before something happened between them. Her rational side _needed_ to win, as much as she didn’t want it to. Slowly, she looked toward the window and then up at him. 

“Perhaps we’d better drink our tea.” She said quietly. “It’s getting late. And I…I don’t think it’d be a good idea for either of us to be walking around when it’s dark.” 

Gleb swallowed thickly, dragging his hand over his jaw before nodding in agreement. “Yes, of course, Anya.” 

Neither of them seemed to want to address what had just passed between them, what had almost happened. Though by the silence that followed, it was clear that was what they both were thinking of. Anya forced her hands not to shake as she sipped at her tea, forced herself to breathe evenly and not throw herself in his arms and kiss him. 

Anya had never been kissed before. Or if she had, she didn’t remember it. Ever since she awoke and yearned to go to Paris, she had dreamed of having her first kiss in Paris, on the bridge from her dreams, with a handsome prince. The Alexander Bridge, she now knew it to be called from her lessons with Vlad and Dmitry. Named after her possible grandfather. It seemed so incredible that a place she saw in her dreams was real. If that place was real, then who was to say the other things she dreamt of weren’t too? 

Gleb poured himself another cup of tea, and she watched his easy motions as she sipped from her cup. She would not have been disappointed if her first kiss was here, in Gleb’s home, with his music playing and the small space smelling like mint tea and his warm musk overwhelming her senses. She would not have been disappointed for her dearest friend to have held her close like he had, to press his lips to hers and…

 _Paris,_ she thought to herself, her free hand lifting to turn her necklace between her fingers as she absently finished off her cup. Her eyes lifted to his face just as he looked to her, and the two shared a quiet smile. If Anya could have contented herself to remain in Russia forever, she would have reached across the table right then and there and kissed him. 

“Are you done?” He asked quietly, gesturing to her cup. Anya nodded at him, and they studied each other a moment longer before he broke the spell and reluctantly stood up. He smoothed his hands over his shirt, glancing at the tea set and then back at her. “Come, I’ll get your coat.” 

Anya nodded and stood up as well. Her legs were shaky, and she was thankful his back was turned as he pulled her sweater off the hook. She made a quiet joke about him being proper as he helped her into it, which made him laugh as he reached for his own. 

“Don’t forget your gift, my friend.” He said, handing her the books he had tied together with a ribbon, and she took it, holding the little stack reverently to her chest. 

“Of course.” She nodded, and after he had turned off the music, they were slipping out of the apartment and out into the cool evening air. 

Anya slipped her hand into his arm instantly, and he sent her a shy little smile in return. They walked quietly together, the sun low in the sky and sending an array of beautiful shades of purple and pink. Anya hummed softly under her breath, her strawberry blonde locks bouncing in the breeze as they walked. 

It didn’t take long for them to reach the bridge they parted ways at each day. But when they did, neither seemed ready to let each other go, despite the promise of seeing each other the next day, as they always did. 

Anya didn’t know how such a day could have a simple goodbye. She wanted it to last forever. 

Anya looked down at the bag of candy and the books in her hands. The worn book from his childhood, and the new empty journal for her future. She felt prickling of tears in her eyes as she gently touched the ribbon that held them together, picturing him wrapping it around the books with reverence. These were _hers_. 

“I don’t know how I can thank you for such a wonderful day, Gleb.” She said with a bright smile. 

There was such gentility in his gaze as he looked down at her. “There’s no need to thank me, Anya. If only we could stay in this day forever, hm?”

Anya blushed. “I was thinking the same thing.” She chuckled. “Certainly beats street sweeping.” 

Gleb grinned. “Oh, good, I’m glad our day tops street sweeping. I was a little worried there that it might still be preferred over all of this.” 

Anya laughed, hugging her books to her chest. “Most days with you top street sweeping, comrade.” She said teasingly. 

“Oh, _most_?” He gasped, placing one hand over his heart as though wounded. 

They shared a laugh, and then grew quiet, Anya rocking on her heels and Gleb standing in perfect stillness. Anya knew the moment she returned to the palace, she would have a princess lesson waiting for her, and a full day of street sweeping ahead of her the next day. 

Life would go back to normal. He would return to being Deputy Commissioner Gleb Vaganov, and she would return to being Anya the orphan, pretending to be Anastasia.

Her stomach churned, but she wouldn’t let her thoughts spoil the perfect day. 

“I’m glad it was an enjoyable day, Anya. I hope it made up for birthdays past.” He adjusted his jacket. 

“It did.” She nodded in agreement. “You truly spoiled me, comrade.” She said teasingly, giving him a mocking little curtsy. 

Gleb laughed, and when she stood upright again, he reached out and took her hand in his. He then surprised her by bringing her hand to his lips and kissing the back of it. 

“Until tomorrow, then.” He said softly. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze, his dark eyes considering her face for a long moment before he released her hand.

“Until tomorrow.” She said quietly. 

He nodded. “Goodnight, Anya.” 

Anya turned to go, but before she was not five steps away, she found herself turning back to him. He had begun to turn away, his gaze focused down at the ground, one hand stuffed into his coat pocket. He seemed deep in thought, but he had lingered, just as she hoped he would. “Gleb?” 

Her voice seemed to pull him out of whatever had his attention within the depths of his mind. When he looked back at her, it was with this expression as a man seeing the sun for the first time. “Yes, Anya?” 

She was taken aback by the reverent tone of his voice. “You’ve given me something very special today.” She said quietly, reaching up to press her palm against his chest.

He brought his hand immediately up to rest over hers. “And what’s that?” 

“You’ve given me new memories.” She murmured, and before she lost her nerve, she rose onto her tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you, my dear friend.”

Gleb bent down so her lips could meet his cheek. She couldn’t help but linger, realizing how easy it would be to turn her head and have her lips meet his. With a sigh, she pulled away reluctantly and took a step back from him. His cheeks colored, and Anya felt as though her heart would burst. 

“I am happy to, my dear friend.” He whispered, his palm coming to rest against the place she had just kissed. Anya smiled shakily at him, and then nodded before turning away, this time, not looking back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh heck, that summary is so weak, haha. I'm horrible at writing chapter summaries. 
> 
> Honestly, I was so close to scrapping this entire idea for this chapter. I kept struggling to get it to work, though I really really wanted to have one last chapter of little moments between them before the hard times come rolling in. I hope you enjoy it, because even though I'm somewhat happy with it now, I'm still nervous to post it. Still, I wanted to be sure I posted something now, since I'll be gone all this weekend and next week is going to be my birthday weekend and will be NUTS. So. Yeah. Hence the long filleresque chapter, haha. 
> 
> If ya'll spot the 1997 Anastasia movie references AND the Star Wars reference, you get a cookie. :)
> 
> Enjoy!


	8. Chapter Eight.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the winter sweeps in, everything begins to unravel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's forecast calls for a heavy ANGSTSTORM.

Another day, another new report to fill. 

It was monotonous work, but necessary. Gleb worked with pride through it all, despite the weariness in his eyes as he scanned yet another report on the possibility of the Grand Duchess Anastasia being alive. 

The daily reports of such claims were beginning to get old. Some days it was Anastasia, some days it was Olga, or Tatiana, or Maria. The ones of the little Tsar still being alive was nearly laughable, especially since the knowledge of his _condition_ had been commonly known for some time now. 

All of it grated on his nerves. _None_ of them were alive. That was that. 

Memories of gunfire that lasted so long, followed by silence that seemed earth shattering, came to mind every time he filled one of these reports. If only all of Russia could see into his mind, see his own memories. No such rumors would be perpetuated if they all could know the truth. 

But since that was impossible, he just followed his duty and tried to leave the rumors and the nonsense behind at the end of the day. He was doing his part by dealing with troublemakers that stirred up the pot of rumors. The rumors would die out eventually, just as they always did. Though this one in particular would be no different, it still irritated him more than the rest of the rumors that flooded Leningrad. 

He dragged a hand over his growing beard, absentmindedly reminding himself he was due for a shave, and spread out the various reports across his desk. The people needed _something_ to warm themselves with, he supposed. Winter had not been kind to Leningrad. It had swept in without a warning, all memories of warm summer days and brisk autumn evenings gone in an instant. The entire country seemed to be blanketed in snow and ice, the skies grey and cloudy and the air painfully cold. 

Gleb glanced out the window. Anya would not be out today again, he assumed. The piles of snow and the harsh storms they had experienced had been enough to keep her from her streetsweeping job, which meant less time shared with her. It worried him not to see her for days on end, but he was at least comforted to know she was sheltered at home, and not enduring the harsh weather. 

Still, he missed her dearly. Every day that he didn’t get to see her felt like a waste. What had he filled his time with before that fateful day the truck had backfired? What had made him happy before he had first seen her smile? 

Absentmindedly, he pulled the little flower out of his pocket, turning it between his fingers briefly before slipping it back into its hiding place. Had he been honest in the autumn, on her ‘birthday’, she might be waiting for him at his apartment now, safe and warm, ready to greet him with a beaming smile and a warm kiss. 

Instead, he had let nearly the entire winter go by without ever admitting to her how he felt. After that fateful day in his apartment, with her warm body in his arms, her lips so near, nothing had been the same. For days after that fateful day, he’d been unable to think of anything but that almost kiss. More times than he could count, he came very close to bringing it up to her, to opening that conversation of how they truly felt about each other. But each time, something came between them, something invisible silenced him. Still, the memory never faded or dwindled. If anything, the memory was constantly in the back of his mind. He was much more acutely aware of her, likening the feeling to a string wrapped around his wrist and tied to her own. So much time spent apart felt like the string was being pulled, as though it would snap and then one day he would be completely without her. 

He ached for her, his love for her almost overwhelming at times. She had to know, even if he couldn’t open his mouth to admit it to her out loud. He was a bumbling fool around her. And her fondness for him had stopped feeling friendly, but instead had turned into something much deeper. 

Gleb shook his head to himself, looking down at the reports on his desk. How much time would go on before he could just be honest with her? Would she be on the arm of another man by the time he could finally get the courage to admit his feelings for her? The thought made him sick to his stomach, but it also made him nearly burst out laughing. He was secure enough in their friendship, er, relationship, to know that she saw no one but him. At least, not in _that_ way. 

Still, his stomach churned for reasons he didn’t know as a knock came to the door, dragging him from his thoughts. One of the secretaries, a blonde woman named Veronika, poked her head in. She smiled brightly at him, but Gleb could not help but find it dull in comparison to Anya’s own beaming grin. 

Everyone was second rate when compared to his dear friend. Gleb smiled to himself before rising to his feet as the woman stepped into his office. 

“What is it, comrade?” Gleb asked, folding his arms behind his back as she approached his desk. 

“There are some women here to see you, Deputy Commissioner.” She appeared to be fighting back a laugh. “More claims on the Romanov princess.” 

“Of course.” Gleb grit through his teeth. “Send them in, I suppose.” He glanced down at his desk. “Though I can’t say I’ll be hearing anything new.” 

Veronika smiled thinly at him, and nodded. “It’ll die out soon, I’m sure. And then you’ll have plenty of time to spend with your little…friend.” 

Gleb frowned, a sharp reply ready on his tongue, but the secretary had already slipped out of the office and was ushering in the group of women that had come to see him. He sighed, wiping his irritation away and preparing an easy, calm demeanor. 

He had already seen this same group of ladies in his office only a week ago. Much like their last encounter, they wore mischievous smiles, almost bursting with whatever information they thought they had. He was almost positive they thought they’d get some sort of reward for selling out whoever they thought was perpetuating the Romanov rumors. But nowadays, the only reward anyone got was the reward of a good feeling after a job well done. 

And in Gleb’s book, that should have been enough. 

“We’ve got some juicy intel for you today, comrade!” One of the ladies giggled, her bright red hair bouncing around her face in limp curls as she stepped closer to his desk. “Another pretty little fool pretending to be Anastasia!” 

Gleb drew in a deep breath, bracing himself. “Anything concerning the Romanovs, even the most preposterous of rumors, we take very seriously!” 

“I told you!” One of the women snickered. 

“She’s as much of a Romanov as I am!” The redhead laughed, and Gleb looked up just as the girl pinched at her threadbare skirts and winked at him. “If you catch my drift, _comrade_.”

He did, and it left him feeling nauseated. He sat down behind his desk as they clucked and giggled back and forth, and Gleb only half listened. Yes, Romanov rumors _were_ taken very seriously. But it was getting terribly old, especially after months of filing reports that went nowhere and listening to groups of women like this with their attempts to rat out fellow comrades.

Gleb wanted to silence these rumors, and it _was_ his duty to sit and listen to whatever was brought to him and take _everything_ seriously, but up until what point? When did it become just fodder, just gossip in Leningrad, and when did it become something to be taken very seriously? 

“That’s enough, ladies.” He waved his hand towards the group after letting them babble on for a good amount of time. Truthfully, he’d hardly heard a word they said. “You’ve done your duty. And I’ve done mine, listening to your gossip. Go on, now.” 

“It’s not gossip!” One of them exclaimed. “It’s the truth!”

“You didn’t even let us finish, comrade.” The redhead drawled. “Wouldn’t you like a better description of her? Strawberry blonde hair, big blue eyes, a face only a mother could love…” She giggled. “Street sweeper too, I think. Was sleeping under a bridge for quite some time, you know. Perhaps you’re familiar with her?”

“Diana!” One of the women hissed in admonishment. 

“What? I think the deputy commissioner might be interested to have a good description of the little tramp. Don’t you?” The redhead, this Diana, crooned. 

A dangerous sensation arose in Gleb as the pieces fit together. They were…accusing _Anya_ of being one of the Romanov imposters? His blood boiled, and though he had every urge to throw these women in a cold prison cell for even accusing Anya of such things, he fought to control himself. 

He looked up at the women, fixing them with a glare as he rose to his feet and glowered over them. He thought back to what Anya had told him many months ago about getting into an argument with her roommate, about what the women she lived with got up to for their occupations. Perhaps one of these women was the very one who had had the run in with Anya. Perhaps this Diana who spoke so boldly was that same woman, or associated with her. His anger rose. 

The women recoiled and stared up at him fearfully, and he couldn’t help but smirk in satisfaction. _Good._ Let them fear him.

For Anya’s sake, the punishment would not be severe. At least until he could do something to get her out of whatever sort of living position put her in line with these women, he would be lenient. His heart sank at the idea of Anya huddled up under a bridge night after night, but he hardly had reason to believe a single word these treacherous women were saying as it was. 

No doubt they thought they were funny, bringing this to him. No doubt they thought they could get her into trouble. 

Anya was a good and loyal Russian. She would never get caught up with slippery conmen and the rumors of Leningrad. She never had before, and it was not in her nature to do so now. For these women of the night to come in and try and taint her good name to _him_ of all people was outlandish and vile at best. Gleb knew her, better than he knew his own self, really. For them to think that he would believe them over her was an absolute joke.

Gleb laughed dangerously, and the women gasped from the harsh sound in the quiet office. “I believe I said, go.” He hissed. _”Now.”_ His voice came out in a deep growl, satisfaction arising at the terrified expressions they now bore. 

That would teach them.

The women jumped to their feet, and Gleb’s smirk grew as they scurried out of his office. Diana followed them, but before she slipped out, he was stunned to find her fix him with a rather mysterious, emboldened look before shutting the door behind the group. 

\--

“It’s cold.” 

The statement was unnecessary, and yet, Dmitry had still made it. Anya scowled in irritation down at the pair of gloves in her hands that she was currently mending. _Obviously,_ she nearly snapped. Vlad had been paranoid lately, feeling as if he and Dmitry were being watched, that their cover would be blown, that their carefully stitched together plans would be uncovered. He hardly allowed them to have a proper fire, despite the freezing winter, for fear of the sight of smoke coming from the Yusupov Palace drawing unwanted attention. Begrudgingly, Anya had to accept that he did have a point, but that didn’t mean she had be happy about it.

Her fingers were trembling, despite the miniscule fire he _had_ allowed, and she had pricked her fingers on the needle more times than she could count just from shivering. She looked up to scowl at Dmitry for his stupid, obvious statement, but was silenced and surprised to find him draping a blanket over her shoulders. She suddenly realized that he hadn’t stated the obvious about the cold for any other reason than to give an excuse to drape the blanket over her shoulders. Her irritation dissipated and her heart warmed, just a little, and she gave him a thin smile before looking back down at her work. 

“Can you even go out in that?” He asked, plopping down by the fire next to her. “Snow’s up to my knees, so I’d wager that’d be up to what, your shoulders?” He teased. 

Anya rolled her eyes. “Unless it’s storming, yes, I can still go out and work.” She pinched the needle against the glove so as not to lose it as she lifted her hand to tug the blanket beneath her chin. “Don’t worry about me, Dima. I’m used to cold weather.” 

Dmitry ducked his head down to hide his reddening cheeks and silly smile. Anya had gotten into the habit of calling him by his father’s pet name for him. It hadn’t been a conscious decision. In fact, it had simply slipped out that day he brought her the dress, and had carried on from then. He never snapped at her for it, much to her shock and surprise, and soon enough, it had become like second nature to her to call him that. And besides, she found she liked his boyish reaction whenever she did call him by his childhood nickname, for reasons she didn’t know why. In fact, she couldn’t help the cheeky grin that always formed on her own face when she caught his reaction. 

“I’m _not_ worried.” He mumbled. “ _I_ don’t worry. That’s Vlad’s job.” 

Anya giggled and nudged him with her elbow before taking up the needle and thread again. “It’s all right to admit it, you know. We’re friends. I worry about you and Vlad too.” 

Dmitry shrugged again. “Well you don’t _need_ to.” 

Anya nodded as she sewed. “I know I don’t. And yet…here I am…doing just that.” She said in a little sing song voice. 

“You’re impossible.” Dmitry huffed, but she could hear a smile in his voice, which only encouraged her to giggle at him. 

“Tell me something I don’t know.” She hummed. Dmitry chuckled, but went quiet, holding his palms out to the small fire. Anya looked up, twirling the needle between her fingers. “Like…when _exactly_ we might be leaving?” 

Dmitry coughed into his sleeve. “Well. After winter, as we’ve been planning.” 

“Yes, but what about a specific date?” Anya set the needle down again to rub her hands together. “I don’t mean to make a fuss, I just…want to plan.” 

Dmitry seemed to be able to pick up just _who_ Anya wanted to plan for, but he didn’t bother mentioning him by name. “I don’t know, Anya. We just have to play it week by week. Honestly, we’d be leaving now if the train tracks weren’t constantly frozen.” He rested his chin in his hand. “We want a quick, easy getaway, at least out of Russia. Once we’re out of here, we’ll have all the time in the world to get to Paris.” 

Anya chewed on her lower lip. If only there was a way to simply transport themselves to Paris in a blink of an eye. The travel time alone made her nervous, and not for the sake of traveling. No, she feared being chased most of all. Her mind flashed to Gleb, and her heart squeezed painfully in her chest. Gleb might come after her, whether it be by duty because their escape wasn’t made legally, or just because his own worry had driven him to follow after her. 

She didn’t like the idea of either option. In a perfect world, he would be the one accompanying her, and she would have no need of Vlad or Dmitry or any of this farce. She would just be going to Paris to find her family like she had always dreamed she would do. 

But, she had to hand it to Dmitry and Vlad. They had planted this idea in her head that she really could be the Grand Duchess, and now, she _needed_ to know the truth for herself. There was too much she had learned from them that seemed to match up with the faint memories that she had, the little flickers of her nightmares and dreams she could remember. But there was also so much that seemed utterly impossible. A life that was hers that she couldn’t even remember living. 

But at the end of the day, it didn’t matter. Regardless of what she could remember and what had been taught to her, Anya was going to Paris, and that was that. 

Still. Those doubts nagged at her in the back of her mind. She chewed on her lower lip and glanced at Dmitry. “Do you think I could really be her?”

“If I were the Dowager Empress, I would want you to be.” He answered simply. 

“That doesn’t answer my question.” She murmured with a thin smile. “That poor woman. Do you think there are girls claiming to be her granddaughters? There must be.” 

“Maybe.” Dmitry wasn’t looking at her, suddenly finding the small fire more interesting than anything else. “Hungry for a reward, I’m sure. But she’s not giving one. She’s not even publicly looking for any of her family. She believes them to all be dead.” 

“But you and Vlad don’t?” She asked carefully. 

“No one knows for sure, Anya.” He said quietly. “But if the rumors are true…I don’t know. We’d go down in history as being the ones to have brought her back to where she belonged.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Sounds kinda nice.” 

Anya’s heart warmed toward the man across from her. Part of her didn’t believe he could be so kind deep down, given their rough beginnings. But something in his voice now made her believe him completely. “So you and Vlad really are just doing this out of the kindness of your heart.” 

“Well that.” He paused dramatically and looked up at her with a grin. “And…to get out of Russia.” Dmitry snickered. “It’s a win-win.” 

Anya studied his sharp profile. “I guess it’s somewhat convenient that an amnesiac street sweeper happened to stop in here just when you’re looking for a surviving Romanov, hm?”

Dmitry flinched, dark eyes darting to her face. “What do you mean by that?”

Anya shook her head. “Nothing, Dmitry. I just…it seems as if fate has a funny way of working.” She chewed on her lower lip. “I’m just…terrified. What if I’m not her? I would hate to let you down. And myself.” 

Dmitry was quiet for a long moment, his gaze softening. One cold hand reached out and adjusted her blanket, and she couldn’t help but smile at him as he rested his hand on her shoulder. “You just keep it up, Anya, and you won’t let anyone down.” He smiled warmly at her, and dropped his hand to his lap. “Paris is the key to everything.” 

_To my heart_ , she nearly murmured, but even that didn’t seem completely true. Not anymore at least, much to her shock and horror.

Her excitement to get to Paris was overruled by her pain at leaving Gleb. As winter had dragged on, they had only gotten closer. Ever since that beautiful autumn day they had shared, their almost kiss, the connection between them had grown into something so deep and different. It was overwhelming, sometimes, to be in his company and not throw herself into his arms. Every little word or glance or touch seemed to be heightened. So many times she thought he would say something, or that even she might, but neither of them ever did. It all made her feel so foolish, to feel such things about him, her dearest and only friend. 

It also made everything that much harder. As winter dragged on, that only meant their escape from Russia would come before she knew it. Dmitry and Vlad could sweep in one day and gather her up, and that would be it. They would be gone. And Gleb would have no idea what had happened. She didn’t like to picture how worried he would be for her. She didn’t want to think of what he would do. 

Anya liked to pretend that maybe, just maybe, she could tell Gleb. More times than she could count, she sat up late at night, writing him letters, trying to explain what she had done, why she had done it. But they always ended up being ripped up and thrown into the fire, her words jumbled and incoherent. 

In a perfect world, he’d simply let her go. He knew how much her family meant to her, and since she had been given this chance to get to Paris, he would have been glad for her, right?

Her eyes wandered to the books on the table behind them, the countless notebooks full of facts that Dmitry and Vlad had her pouring over every day. He might have been glad for her if she didn’t think her family was who Vlad and Dmitry thought they could be.

But against all odds, she hoped that he might be happy for her even if she ended up being the Grand Duchess. She could see how Gleb cared for her. And it was unconditional. It always had been. Wouldn’t he be happy for her, if she found where she belonged, even if it meant belonging to the Romanov family?

Anya wasn’t so sure. 

“Are you okay?” Dmitry asked, sitting up straighter. “You’re shaking.” 

Anya flushed. _One step at a time,_ she thought to herself, one day at a time. “It’s cold.” She said simply. 

\--

“We finally have a lead, comrade.” 

Gleb frowned. Had there been a knock at his door and he’d not heard it? Or had the officer just let himself in? Gleb had been distracted and staring out the window, watching the Nevsky Prospekt for any sign of Anya. While Russian winters were anything but mild, already the brunt of the harsh snowstorms had passed, the promise of spring off in the distant future. It had only been a month ago that Gleb had seen those women enter his office, shaking snow off their clothes and spreading their poison. 

Gleb grit his teeth at the sound of a file being set down on his desk. Apparently this officer didn’t seem to care about Gleb’s position. While everyone was equal, there was a level of respect that had to be enforced when it came to Gleb’s position. He had earned the title and role, and therefore, the respect that came with it. Pushing his irritation aside, Gleb turned away from the window and stepped forward to see what the officer had brought. 

“A lead?” Gleb hummed. “Be more specific, comrade.” 

The officer was a young man with a strange air of innocence in his bright blue eyes. Gleb had seen him before, Vadim was his name. He’d been trying to find his place in the office, though Gleb knew it was hard to, especially since the winter had started and nearly every officer was passing their patrol duties off to the younger recruits.

“Er, right, sorry.” He flushed. “A lead in the Romanov rumors. Or, well, a lead on the conmen that were holding the Romanov ‘auditions’ last summer.” 

Gleb pursed his lips. He’d heard that one before, nearly a hundred times in the last year. “A _real_ lead?” 

“Yes, sir.” Vadim said seriously. “Dmitry Sudayev and Vladimir Popov are the ones.” 

“The conman and the false Count.” Gleb growled under his breath, sneering at the file that was now opened in his hands.

The pair had been trouble for as long as Gleb could remember. They had been known to sell stolen and illegal goods on the black market, along with spreading anti Bolshevik propaganda and slander. But any interference to track them down always led to a dead end. The pair were as slippery as eels. They were _good_ conmen, exactly the type that did not fit into the new order Gleb was trying to bring about. 

Still. He’d had Dmitry in his sights before, even the false Count, but he’d always chosen to let them go free, despite the charges against them. Something deep down made him want to give them chances to prove themselves. He winced in recalling the day Dmitry had run into Anya, how Gleb had considered hauling him off right then and there, but had yet again let him go. 

The pair had been off the radar for quite some months now, and Gleb had truthfully been too tied up in Romanov rumors and his feelings for Anya to be too worried about them. They had been quiet, and so, Gleb didn’t find the need to really set his focus on minor crimes that they might have been up to.

Gorlinsky’s words echoed in his head, and he kicked himself for getting so distracted. He needed to be better. For Russia’s sake. For Anya’s sake. Taking conmen off the streets was his job. He should not have allowed himself to have so much pity for them, when they had clearly proven themselves to be anything but good and loyal Russians a long time ago. 

“Any clue as to their whereabouts?” Gleb hummed, noting the glaring lack of their location in the report. 

“No, comrade.” Vadim hummed. “What we have now are names. That lot of women who were here last month actually brought this information a few days ago.” 

Gleb felt a sour feeling in the pit of his stomach from the expression on the redheaded woman’s face, the poisonous accusations she had brought about towards Anya. His dark eyes narrowed and flickered up to Vadim’s boyish face. “Are we _so sure_ we can trust _their_ word?” 

Vadim looked as if he was fighting off a smile, as if he had heard what the women had said, as if he understood why Gleb was reacting as such. But one glare from Gleb had him struggling to gain his composure. “I’ve looked into it myself, comrade. I would have brought it to you the moment they gave me the information, but I wanted to be certain it was the truth before doing so.”

Gleb stared at him for a long moment. Vadim’s face was an open book, and Gleb was at least thankful that there was nothing but the truth in the man’s eyes. With a nod, he sighed, and looked back down at the file. “Romanov auditions, hm?” Gleb shook his head. “I don’t know why they bother.” 

“You and me both, comrade.” Vadim coughed. “But I suppose it’s in their nature. All they seek is a reward and an illegal escape from Russia. Cowards.” 

“And if they found a good enough actress in a gullible enough waif…” Gleb shook his head and sat down behind the desk. “Foolish.” He turned back toward the window, glancing out at the Nevsky Prospekt. “You’re certain there’s no information on their whereabouts? None whatsoever?”

“The winter has kept them hidden, it seems. But they are near, and can’t hide forever.” Vadim said with certainty. “I will keep you abreast to any new developments on their whereabouts. Now that we know who to watch out for, we will be able to track them down, I’m certain of it.” 

Gleb couldn’t help but smile thinly, despite his frustration. “Do away with those two and whatever false princess they think they’ve found and we might do away with a great deal of other imposters and conmen in the process.” He folded his hands behind his back and smiled darkly. “Soon enough, this rumor in Leningrad will be finally put to rest.” 

\--

That evening, Anya waited for Gleb by the fountain as she always did. 

The day had been long and cold, but at least the snow had started to lessen. Anya wasn’t sure what she would do if she had to miss more work all because of the weather. Less wages meant less funds for Paris, and the little trio needed all the extra help they could get. 

Anya kicked at a slushlike pile of snow near her feet, hugging her coat tightly around herself as she did so. As freezing and terrible as winter was in Leningrad, she longed for it to go on just a little bit longer. Paris was her dream, her goal, but the closer she got to actually going there, the more painful it was to realize that she would be leaving Gleb, and quite possibly for good. 

She had always just assumed he might come after her; ask her what she was thinking, something, anything. After being in each other’s lives for a little over a year now, not to mention his obvious feelings for her, it would be completely out of his character for him not to worry and look for her. She had seen the way he fretted over her just during the winter when the snow kept them apart, how fearful his dark eyes got, how worried he was for her over every little thing. 

But lately, a dark part of her had begun to wonder if perhaps he might just…let her go. If he could somehow find a way to know that she had run away to Paris, he might be happy for her. He always frowned on the city, but he still knew what it meant to her. And if he just let her go, it might have been for the best anyways. Especially considering the entire royal mess of a plan and her fear of seeing him again and seeing the betrayal in his eyes. But it was hard to wrap her mind around saying goodbye to Gleb and never, ever seeing him again.

The thought nauseated her, and she was thankful she was seated on the edge of the fountain, for fear of her knees growing weak. 

Something heavy and warm suddenly came around her shoulders, and she looked up in surprise to find Gleb standing over her. He had draped his overcoat around her shoulders, the fabric heavy and still warmed from his body. She took a deep breath, shuddering involuntarily from the scent of his musk, from the feeling of such warmth on her tired, cold body. 

“Hello.” He said simply, extending one gloved hand out to her. 

Anya beamed up at him, unable to help herself as she slipped her own hand into his and allowed him to help her to her feet. “Hello, Gleb.” She hummed. “Did you have a pleasant day?” 

Gleb chuckled, giving her hand a gentle squeeze before bringing it to slip within his arm. “Yes, quite pleasant. Only made more pleasant by your presence.”

Anya blushed, a short laugh escaping her lips from his boldness. Clearly it _had_ been a good day for him if he was able to exude this sort of confidence with her. To the public, it seemed easy for him to be confident and sure, but in her presence, he melted. 

It warmed her from the inside out. After spending so long alone, her past a dark fog that hung over her head, Gleb truly was a light that guided her through it all. Her heart skipped a beat, and she realized just how much she had depended on his companionship over their single year in each other’s acquaintance. 

But _Paris_. 

Anya sighed, tucking herself close to his side and holding his coat around her with her other hand. “You’ll freeze if you don’t take this back, you know.” 

“Better me than you, my friend.” He hummed. 

Anya smiled, giving his arm a squeeze as he set them off on their usual walk. It surprised her to hear him humming under his breath, to see him smiling so brightly when he looked at her. The past month had left him in a frustrated, foul mood. Despite his best efforts to cover it up and show her warmth, she could still take note of it. And he never told her why. She chalked it up to his duties or government secrets or criminals evading justice. 

“What’s got you in such a good mood, comrade?” Anya drawled, instantly missing the warmth of his musical humming when he stopped to look down at her as she spoke. 

“Things of business, Anya.” Gleb murmured with a smile. “It seems a pair of slippery conmen that have evaded the law for quite some time may be brought to justice soon enough.” 

Anya’s heart skipped a beat, her mind instantly going to Vlad and Dmitry. But this was Russia. There were thousands of conmen in Leningrad, let alone the Nevsky Prospekt.

But maybe Vlad was right to be paranoid. Maybe he and Dmitry _were_ being watched. While Anya saw the good in Vlad and Dmitry, she knew they were not the most honest of men. Their day to day comings and goings certainly didn’t fit into the ‘good and loyal Russian’ mold that Anya knew Gleb and his fellow officers yearned to see. It hadn’t mattered to her. She had decided long ago that she was getting to Paris, regardless of how. Even if that meant illegally.

But if there was some chance that Vlad and Dmitry really were being watched, would that mean she was too? She glanced up at Gleb. No, no. If Gleb suspected her of anything, he would say something to her. He trusted her more than he trusted whispers on the street, and had no idea of her affiliation with Vlad and Dmitry. 

At least, she hoped as much. Vlad and Dmitry had taken great care never to acknowledge her in public, though she had seen the pair oftentimes walking about while she did her job. It had seemed more frequent shortly after she met them, that she noticed their presence when she swept through the Nevsky Prospekt. Dmitry especially. Almost as if he hadn’t trusted her not to run to Gleb with information on their plans to escape Russia and for her to possibly be the lost Grand Duchess. 

It seemed strange to think of how much had changed now. 

“Oh.” Anya chirped, disinterestedly. “Perhaps we’ll have cause for celebration then, hm? Given your stellar mood, I can guess they’ve caused you quite a lot of problems.” 

“You have no idea, my friend.” Gleb hummed. “But perhaps you’re right. I’ll look through my mother’s recipe book and see if there’s something that tickles your fancy more than stroganoff.” 

Anya leaned into his side. Gleb looked down at her in surprise, chuckling when she scrunched her nose up at him. “Perhaps I care for it now.” 

“Even when burned?” He teased. 

“We didn’t burn it last time!” She laughed, pulling back to pinch at his arm. “Who knows, maybe next time we’ll cook the noodles all the way through!” 

The pair shared a laugh, catching the attention of a few passersby. Anya blushed and clutched his coat tighter, her fingers brushing over the chain around her neck. Moments like this with him were as easy as breathing. 

When they reached the bridge, Anya wordlessly dragged Gleb to stand on it with her. She released his arm to hold his coat beneath her chin, staring down at the icy water in the canal below them.

Anya sighed, chewing on her lower lip as they quietly watched the water drift. 

She would miss this. Their daily walks had become second nature to her over the year they had known each other. She treasured each conversation, each book they had poured over and shared, and how dear he had become to her. 

Anya spared him a glance, drinking in the sight of his easygoing smile, how he watched the water and then looked at her, his scruffy cheeks dimpling as he grinned at her. 

_Don’t forget me,_ her heart cried, _Please understand what I have to do._

“Anya?” Gleb tilted his head down, worry creasing his eyebrows together. “What is it, Anya? You’ve become so pale all of a sudden.” 

Anya kicked herself for showing her emotions so plainly, and shook her head, quickly masking her pain with a bright smile. “Nothing, Gleb, nothing.” She said quickly. 

Gleb frowned. “Are you sure, Anya?” 

“Y-yes, Gleb.” She nudged him with her elbow. “I…” Anya looked down at the water, considering how her plainly shown emotions had inadvertently opened a door. But, it might not have been a bad thing. Now she could think of a way to tell him how she felt without giving it all away. “I was just…recalling a nightmare.” She stuttered. 

“Oh, Anya…” He crooned, and she closed her eyes briefly from the warmth of his voice. 

“I’m fine, Gleb, really.” She blushed and waved him off, her heart clenching from the way he instantly sought to comfort and shelter her. “I just…its awoken something in me today, this…this terrible fear deep down, you know?” 

Gleb’s lips thinned. “I understand, Anya. But your nightmares can’t hurt you.” His hand brushed along her back gently. 

“I know.” She whispered. A silly little laugh escaped her. “But I must be honest, Gleb, I have this terrible fear of being forgotten.” Anya’s voice dropped at her admission, and she looked down sheepishly, watching the water in the canal drift by. “I don’t know where it comes from. I’ve been alone for so long, been so used to being a shadow, that it seems rather ridiculous for me to be afraid of being forgotten.” Her voice cracked. “If I had any family, I’d say they’ve certainly forgotten me by now.” 

“Don’t say that, Anya.” Gleb said urgently. “My friend, if you still have family out there, they will find you.” His hand came to rest over hers, and she was forced to look up at him, though she was nervous to. “And even if they don’t…” He shook his head, looking for all the world like he wanted to say something more. But as usual, he for some reason forced himself to stop.

Anya’s brow furrowed. “ _You_ will never forget me, even if they have.” She murmured. 

Gleb didn’t say anything, just stared at her, before nodding once. “Yes, Anya.” Their eyes remained locked for a long moment, and she was sure he would say something more, but as usual, he clamped his mouth shut and put on a boyish smile. “But we mustn’t talk like this. Neither of us will be separated from each other anytime soon, so it’s not as if we will even have a chance to miss one another, let alone forget.” 

Anya forced a smile, and looked back out at the water. “You’re right.” She said, in what she hoped was an easygoing tone. “Thank you, Gleb.” She hummed, turning her hand over to lace her fingers with his own. 

“Of course, Anya.” He murmured, staring down at their linked hands with a shy smile.

Anya stared up at him while his gaze was averted, her heart thudding wildly in her chest. She yearned for Gleb to speak up, to speak his mind about how he felt about her. She knew he had feelings for her, and she just wanted him to admit to it before she was gone for good. Not that his proclamation would do anything to stop her. If anything, it would be much harder for her to leave him if he ever did. But she wanted him to, just so she could know, just so she could…

Anya didn’t even know what good it would do to know. Maybe just to hear his warm voice say the words.

Maybe he was waiting for _her_ to say the word. Ever since the beginning, he had always kept her comfort in mind when doing anything. He always wanted her to feel secure, that she knew she was safe, that he was not pressuring her or proposing anything to her. He always was so mindful of her feelings, and so maybe in this case he did not want to pressure her into something she did not feel for him either. 

Anya looked back out at the water when his dark eyes flicked up to meet hers. And what _did_ she feel for him? An obvious sort of love, given he was her only friend, had been the only bright spot in her many years alone. But how deep did it run? 

Obviously not deep enough, given her persistence to flee, despite everything. If she had felt even a shred of contentment in Russia, if she could see herself giving up her dream for a home with Gleb, she might have stayed. 

The idea was a beautiful one, in the back of her mind. Gleb’s friendship had certainly given her a glimpse of home, a glimpse of love and a family. And hadn’t she always wanted that most of all? Hadn’t she allowed herself to daydream what a marriage would be like with Gleb, what being fully in love with him might have been like? Could she picture herself ever loving anyone else, down the line?

No, she most certainly could not. But, she reminded herself, she wanted Paris most of all, because Paris held the key to everything her heart could have ever wanted. Home, love, and family came with Paris. If by some chance she stayed in Russia and tried to make a life and a future as Gleb’s wife, she would always wonder, and always feel the call of Paris. 

She could not have both Paris and Gleb, and the thought killed her inside. 

In a perfect world, Anya could convince Gleb to come with her, to start anew in Paris with her. She could see that, could see Gleb the man coming with her to Paris, watching over her and standing by her side, just as he did here in Russia. But Gleb the officer would never leave his homeland, never give up the duty he had set before him. His place in the new order was too important to him. Anya could have never even asked him to do such a thing. 

And just how would Gleb feel about her if she actually _was_ the lost princess? He stood against everything her possible family had been about. The Bolsheviks as a whole were trying to do away with everything the Romanovs had done. Establish a new order. She’d heard it all a thousand times before. 

Oh, she thought as her eyes drifted up to her friend, how upset he would be if he knew all that she had entangled herself with. Who she thought she really was. Anya didn’t even want to think about it. She didn’t want to entertain any ideas that he would have to lay down the law with her, if by some chance she was caught. There was potential for a long life in a jail cell for what they were doing. Or something far worse. 

_You would hate me if I really was her,_ she thought dreadfully.

Anya gave his hand an involuntary squeeze at the thought, needing to anchor herself to reality, where she stood right then and there in that moment. His gaze dropped to her bent head, and he cleared his throat in an attempt to get her attention. 

“Anya?” He asked warmly when that didn’t work. “What are you thinking about?”

Such a loaded question, with a heavier answer. She shook her head at him and avoided his gaze. Silently, he crooked one finger beneath her chin and tilted her face gently so she would be looking up at him. She smiled at him, despite the spinning thoughts that ran wild throughout her head. “Home.” She finally whispered, and it was true, she was thinking about her home. 

And perhaps home rested in his dark eyes or in the warm timber of his voice or the gentle touch of his hand. His home could have been her home. His arms could have been her shelter, his love her warmth. They could have burned stroganoff every night and read books and listen to music and laugh and just…be. 

He dropped his finger and she sighed, knowing she could not live within ‘if only’. She stared up at him, into his loaded eyes, his quiet mouth. With a smile, she looked back out at the water again. 

Gleb Vaganov was quiet beside her, but she felt the heaviness rolling off of him in waves. 

She waited. 

But the silence was all that answered her. 

\--

“You’re certain, comrades?” Vadim glanced between the women’s faces. He might not have been the most experienced of officers, but he had prided himself in the past for knowing when someone was lying or telling the truth. 

And while this particular group of women of the night might have brought some rather salacious gossip over the past few months, Vadim could see nothing but the truth in their overdone, tired faces. 

The redhead smiled at him, resting a hand on his shoulder as she sidled up to his side. “Of course, darling. I wouldn’t lie to you. Isn’t that right, Vera?” 

Another woman slipped up to his other side, going as far as to lay her head on his shoulder. “That’s right, sweetheart. We speak of nothing but the truth.” She crooned. “You’re adorable, you know?”

Vadim shook them off, glancing at the pretty streetsweeper across the square. “She seems harmless.” He finally said, tilting his head to the side. The girl hadn’t turned to face them, too focused on her work to even notice them watching her. But from what he could tell so far, she certainly matched the description of the girl that had been seen poking about the Yusupov Palace where the two conmen had been rumored to be hiding out. 

“The best actresses always do.” The redhead snapped. 

“Now, now, Diana. I’m not so sour anymore and neither should you. Better little miss ‘Romanov’ over there and not us.” Vera admonished. 

“Yes, I suppose you’re right.” Diana hummed. Vadim glanced at her as she chuckled, tapping her fingers against his arm. “You’re a fairly new officer, aren’t you, darling? Drag her in by her ear to your deputy commissioner and I’m positive you’ll receive exactly what you deserve.”

Vadim didn’t justify the women with an answer, but by their giggling, he could tell they knew just how little experience he had. He knew the other officers, his higher ups, had only started giving him and the other newer officers their patrol shifts because they hadn’t wanted to patrol in the snowy weather. Vadim had never complained, even though the others certainly did. 

Vadim _wanted_ to prove himself, show that he was worthy of more responsibilities. He wanted a better tomorrow, a better Russia. To find the names of the conmen in charge of the Romanov auditions, that had been one thing. But to bring in the imposter herself? That would certainly show his higher ups he was capable of more. Deputy Commissioner Vaganov might even put in a good word for him to Gorlinsky!

Grinning to himself, he took a step forward, the cold morning air invigorating him along with this new information. “I’ll keep an eye on her.” He murmured, glancing back at the other women. He passed them a few coins from his pocket, sending them a wink before slipping out into the busy Nevsky Prospekt. 

\--

It wasn’t until a few days later that everything began to unravel. 

Anya had been distracted. She had gotten very little sleep the night before, up late listening to Vlad and Dmitry’s worried conversation about ticket prices and the eyes they felt following them around Leningrad. Anya was now certain that they truly were the ones Gleb had told her about, the ones he had been so happy to gain information about. She very nearly pressed him, but for fear of getting her companions into more trouble by asking, she kept quiet. 

The trio began to delay their coming and going to the palace each day in an attempt to throw off the officers that might have been watching them from the shadows. Anya didn’t really mind delaying her return to the palace each night. Not when it meant she could insist on longer walks with Gleb, or lingering conversations on the bridge. Any moments she could soak up with Gleb before they made their escape, which seemed to be coming sooner rather than later, would comfort her when they would be forced to part.

Anya smiled to herself and adjusted the scarf around her neck, though the thin fabric did very little to block out the cool morning air. As happy as she was for the snow to finally be melting, that only meant the streets were slick, causing mud and debris to cling to the cobblestones. It certainly would be keeping her busy, and she was thankful the patches she had sewn into her gloves hadn’t torn, seeing as she had been working a lot harder lately. 

As she took up her broom again to get back to work, a pair of officers across the square caught her eye. Gleb was not among them, much to her disappointment. But one of them was looking right at her. At first, she assumed they were talking about her, finding amusement in conjuring up ideas as to what her relationship with Gleb really was like, as many had been wont to do every since the beginning. But then he murmured something to his companion, and when they both stared her down, she felt her heart fall to her feet from the look in their eyes. 

Anya took a deep breath and looked down at the ground, prepared to continue on as if she hadn’t noticed them. If she acted natural, they wouldn’t question her. Vlad had been praising her for her acting skills as of late, and while she wasn’t sure how she felt about that, she figured she could at least try and use that to her advantage. She kept her face blank, her grasp on her broom tight, and went back to work. 

Nothing happened for a long moment, and as soon as Anya felt as if she could breathe easily, a hand clamped around her arm and halted her sweeping. 

She looked up, her heart thudding wildly in her chest as the two officers stood before her. 

“Come with us, comrade.” One of them said evenly, his youthful face hardly matching the dark tone of his voice, the grim set of his mouth. 

Anya felt as though she was going to be sick. “I’ve done nothing wrong.” She insisted. “W-what are the charges?” She demanded, gasping when the broom was suddenly wrenched from her hands. “P-please, if you would just tell me what I’ve done-“

“That’s enough.” The second officer snapped. “You’ll have plenty of time to explain yourself to the deputy commissioner.” 

“But-“ Anya started, stunned when the officers came to stand at her sides, their hands gripping her by the elbows in a vicelike grip. She could say or do nothing more than go with them, despite everything inside of her screaming to kick, to scream, to _fight_

Anya was in trouble. 

\--

“She’s here.” Vadim called out sharply as he poked his head into Gleb’s office. 

Gleb smiled to himself and rose to his feet, giving his fellow comrade a short nod before turning towards the window. “Our little troublemaker has been found.” He said under his breath.

Just that morning, Vadim had burst into his office, without knocking _again_ , and exclaimed that he had found the imposter princess that Sudayev and Popov had been training to impersonate a Romanov princess. Vadim had also gone as far as to rush out without being properly excused, promising to fetch the imposter before Gleb had a chance to finish his tea.

And the boy had delivered, it seemed. Gleb smiled to himself, considering the phone call he might have with Gorlinsky later on, praising the boy, but chiding him on his manners. 

Gleb let out a sigh of relief. Hopefully this would be the end of it. Perhaps the girl might give up the location of the conmen, might be too scared out of her whits and willing to give up the whole charade along with useful information.

If it all went well, perhaps he and Anya could celebrate that evening. But as usual, he was getting ahead of himself. Nonethless, if he could put out one fire starter, then perhaps the others would get the hint and that would be the end of all of this. 

_Finally._

With the end of the Romanov rumors came the hope of a brighter tomorrow. A brighter tomorrow where he could finally tell Anya how he really felt, where he could actually approach the idea of asking her to be his wife. 

His stomach flip flopped at the idea, the flower in his pocket suddenly becoming heavier just from the thought of marriage, but the warmth that came from the image of Anya as his wife drove him to keep his composure and his posture straight and intimidating. 

Gleb continued to face the window as Vadim and another officer led the waif into his office. He imagined a small girl, trembling and terrified, easily intimidated by the harsh warning he had prepared on his tongue. Impersonating a Romanov was worthy of a high consequence, if taken too far. And this one had nearly gotten away with those lying conmen, had nearly attempted an upheaval of everything Gleb had ever stood for and worked towards. 

She had _almost_ slipped away. 

Gleb blinked back to reality, eyeing the Yusupov Palace in the distance. “It’s a remarkable city, our Leningrad.” He began casually. “All those people down there coming and going, creating a bright future for themselves. I often stand here admiring them, wondering why a few bad apples are getting up to mischief down there.” He hummed. “I can see all the way to the old Yusupov Palace. Funny bit of business going on there... Counter revolutionary behavior, if you ask me!” He barked, satisfaction brewing within him as his voice carried and bounced off the walls in a terrifying echo. 

Gleb turned slowly, his shoulders straightening as he attempted to make his tall frame even mightier. He kept his hands locked behind his back, his gaze lowered, before he lifted his eyes slowly to look down upon…

“Anya?” He gasped. 

“Gleb.” She said shakily, looking for all the world like she wanted to be anywhere but there. She shuddered, her bright blue eyes dewy. “Why was I brought here? What did I do?” 

Gleb blinked repeatedly, wishing she was a mirage that would fade away. But she wasn’t. She had really been dragged here, the weight of all these accusations hanging over her head. 

“ _Nothing._ ” He said in a hushed whisper, dropping his proper posture and stepping around his desk. She flinched when he came near. He winced, knowing full well he deserved it, especially after he had barked at her. But how could he have known that _she_ had been there? 

And _why_?

Anger instantly boiled in his blood as he glared at the closed office door. Those women must have spread their poisonous words about Anya and coerced Vadim into doing this. 

But, the boy had said there were guards watching the Yusupov Palace, and if the imposter that had been coming and going was Anya…

Gleb grit his teeth. No, not Anya. Not _his_ Anya. She would never have anything to do with the mischief going on down there. Those girls, Vadim, the other guards, they were wrong. They _had_ to be. 

She still stared up at him with fear in her eyes, and he hated to see that expression on her face, especially when she was looking at him. His gaze softened. Vadim and _those women_ would be dealt with. Right now, his concern was Anya. He chewed on his lower lip, scanning her for any signs of injury. If those officers put their hands on her in any way…But she seemed fine, just nervous and terrified to have no doubt been plucked away from her street sweeping shift to be dragged to him like this. 

“I’ve done nothing wrong, Gleb. They wouldn’t tell me why I was brought here…just…just that I would have to explain myself to you.” Anya said quickly. 

Gleb sighed, frowning at his feet. “They had orders to bring the girl responsible for preparing to flee the country illegally and impersonate a Romanov.” He said simply. “There were reports of a pair of conmen hiding out in the old Yusupov Palace with their imposter, you see. The girl in question was to be brought to me…” Gleb trailed off, narrowing his eyes as he looked at Anya. “But that’s…that’s not you…” 

Even as he said it, he wasn’t so sure. His spies were some of the best in Leningrad. Even if Vadim had been easily swayed and weak willed, that didn’t mean the rest of his men were. 

Panic arose within him at the direction of where his thoughts were going. He quickly stopped himself from getting overwhelmed with the feeling, but Anya quickly looked away, and grew pale, doing nothing to deny anything he was saying, which only added to the anxiety that was balling up in his chest. 

“Anya…please tell me that’s not you.” 

She licked her lips, breathing heavily as she kept her gaze on the floor. “I’ve done nothing wrong.”

 _No, please, dear God, no._ Gleb folded his hands tightly behind his back, attempting to keep control of his inner thoughts, sudden fears arising as he stared down at his dearest friend. Anya was an innocent. Anya was his _dearest friend_. To be entangled with those conmen would mean…

It would mean that she had been lying to him. And if she was lying about _this_ then what else was she lying about?

But no, _no_. 

“Of course you haven’t.” He said shakily. “Of course… _you_ haven’t. You…you know the consequences of what such an act would do to you. You wouldn’t dare do such a thing as this and risk… _everything_.” By her flinch and quick intake of breath, he knew she understood what he meant when he said ‘everything’.

She still hadn’t spoken again, and it only made him feel more nauseated. He kept his gaze on her head, the way her strawberry blonde hair seemed to shine golden in the bright lights of his office. 

He turned away from her and back towards his desk, determined to shake these thoughts away, to pretend all of this was just…Vadim’s mistake. If he could just punish Vadim and those women, then this could all just be blown over. He could…he could forget all about this. 

“Since you’re here, would you like some tea? It’s fresh, of course. Mint, picked from my garden just this morning.” He felt foolish for rambling, for attempting to blow something as big as this over with a cup of tea, but his hands suddenly couldn’t stop shaking, the fear of her possibly pretending to be a Romanov far too overwhelming, and he just… needed to distract himself.

Her footsteps were soft as she approached his desk. Gleb winced as her voice trembled as she finally spoke, but it was what she said that chilled him most of all. “What if I was?” His hand involuntarily tightened around a teacup he had been lifting. “Everyone imagines themselves to be someone their not. It’s an innocent enough fantasy.”

Gleb set the cup in his hands down sharply before his grasp grew any tighter and shattered the porcelain, the sound of saucer and cup against the tray rattling them both. “No, Anya, it’s _not_.” He ground out. “So, you admit it then? You’re working with those two, in plans of impersonating the long dead Romanov? You’ve…you’ve been _lying?_ To _me?_ ”

Her silence was admission enough, and Gleb could have wept from how powerful of a blow it was. He felt anger arise within him again, but it was quickly overpowered by the crushing pain of betrayal. “Gleb…I…” She started. “I _wanted_ to tell you…there were so many times I nearly did, but I knew…” She trailed off, and while he felt his heart lean toward her in compassion by the trembling in her voice, he still could not get the idea of her lying to _him_ out of his head. He ground his teeth together, and stepped away from his desk to stare out the window again, his back still to her. 

“This is a dangerous game you play, comrade.” Gleb said coldly, staring out the window at the streets of Leningrad. His beloved Russia. A Russia still suffering, but a beautiful Russia nonetheless. The potential for what it could be was now being threatened by the very one who his heart beat for. 

She hadn’t spoken again, but he could sense her agitation even with his back to her. He ached to rest his coat over her shoulders, to pour her tea and pretend like this was just another day.

Anya took a deep breath, and then asked, “What if it’s _not_ a game, Gleb?” 

“There’s no possible way it can be anything but a game.” He snapped. “This is not one of your treasured fairytales or a daydream you might have had. The real world has no need for all of that, Anya, regardless of how much you might have comforted yourself with them in the past.” The words tasted bitter and wrong. “No, _this_ is so much more than all of that.” 

She sucked in a deep breath. “Won’t you at least let me explain myself? You and I…we have always listened to each other. Please, listen to me now.” 

He owed her that, at least. And besides that, Gleb _needed_ to know why she would do something like this behind his back. 

Instead, he took a deep breath and replied, “Alright.” Gleb slowly turned away from the window to finally face her again. Anya released a shuddering breath in response, her bright eyes darting from his face to the floor. He waited anxiously, watching her as she ducked her head and chose her words carefully. 

“For ten years…I’ve been no one, Gleb.” She slowly began, looking up at him and struggling to keep her eyes on his. It’s all he could do to not step around the desk and take her hands into his own and look deep into her eyes and promise that she was not nothing, that she never had been nothing, that she had always been _everything_ to him. But he held himself steady, waiting for her to go on. 

“You don’t know what that’s like, Gleb. I’ve _never_ known even the smallest bit of who I am. But all I have ever known is that I need to get to Paris, that someone might be waiting there for me, that perhaps my dreams are real, and that I need to be there for some reason.” Her hands absentmindedly lifted to the chain about her neck, her fingers twirling the broken bauble. “This was a way out. A chance. A possibility of a life that could be mine if by some wild chance I might be _this_ …someone.” Her voice strengthened. “And if I’m not her, if I really am just a nameless orphan, then at least I would have gotten to go to Paris. The city of my dreams. And then…at least I could… find my way once I got there.” 

He very nearly asked her why she would want to leave _him,_ but those were the thoughts of a foolish boy. Still, he wanted to understand what would drive her from his welcoming arms and straight into those conmen, why her daydreams of Paris were more important than keeping the law, and even still, more important than him.

He swallowed thickly, bringing his focus back to reality before quietly murmuring, “Paris is no place for a good and loyal Russian.” He watched her head hang in shame. Gleb could remember saying that once before, how he had teased her, even encouraged her to maybe take a visit to Paris one day. Going to Paris was one thing, but… 

“Impersonating a Romanov, Anya, is no way to start a new life. Especially when that heinous family is gone.” He spat.

Anya’s brows furrowed together. “But what if I really am-“

“You’ve been fed such lies, Anya, to believe there’s a chance of that!” He suddenly exclaimed. “No one got away!” Gleb tugged at his collar, a cold sweat beginning to form as the ghostly memories of the past come to the forefront of his mind. 

“What are you saying Gleb? How could you know that for sure?” 

“Because, my dear friend,” He replied bitterly, “My father was one of the men in that cellar that night, doing his duty for the sake of his beloved Russia.” 

Anya’s face fell as the pieces began to fit together. “I don’t want to hear this. Please, Gleb, don’t tell me.” 

“I have to, Anya. You need to understand.” He said firmly.

Slowly, Gleb stepped around his desk until he was standing over her, his dark eyes staring pleadingly at her horrified expression. This had been the _one_ thing he’d kept from her. The _one_ thing he never wanted her to know, never wanted her mind to be clouded with. He loathed himself for what he had to do, but at this point, to make her understand, to save her life, she _needed_ to know this. “I was a boy living near where they were kept. My father was one of the officers that stood guard at the house in Yekaterinburg.” He swallowed thickly. “I saw them, Anya, on that fateful day as they proudly marched inside and never came out. I heard the shots, the screams, and I will never be able to get the sounds out of my mind for as long as I live.”

Anya’s breathing hitched, and as her beautiful face twisted into horror, he wanted desperately to stop. It pained him to recall these memories to the forefront of his mind, but the pain of losing Anya would be worse, he knew. He forced himself to continue on. “The world stopped turning in that silence. I will never forget it. And when my father returned home, nothing was ever the same. I stopped being a boy, and he…” His voice caught in his throat and lowered seriously, his desperation for her to stop this nonsense overwhelming his desire to lose himself to those memories. “He told me _never_ to ask. When he passed away, my mother said he died of shame. But what he did was what Russia _needed_ him to do.” He stepped closer to her slight form, his heart aching at the sight of her trembling chin. “So believe me when I say that _no one_ got away, Anya. I know more than so many that the possibility of even one of them escaping is just…simply impossible.” 

The silence was louder than anything he had ever heard before. Anya couldn’t look at him now, more so than even moments before, when he was accusing her. His chest ached, and the memories were now swirling through his mind. He felt nauseated, much like he had that fateful night, when he’d been crouched by the window for hours, listening, unable to tear himself away. He tilted his head down, dark eyes desperately searching her face, needing to wash away the memories of the past by just… _looking_ at her. 

“You never told me that before.” Anya finally said, her voice thick with pain. He winced as he realized there were two twin streams of tears pouring down her delicate face. 

“I never wanted to, my friend.” He murmured anxiously. “Never.” 

“I wish you never had.” She choked out, rubbing at her cheeks roughly with the back of her sleeve. She kept her face downcast, her chest heaving with a slight sob that she fought to hold back, almost as if she was choking on her sorrow, like she didn’t want him to see her cry. 

Without really thinking, he reached out instinctively and curved one finger beneath her chin, gently lifting her face. She looked at the ground, at the walls, anywhere but him stubbornly for as long as possible, but when he brought his other hand to gently brush her tears away, she finally looked up into his eyes.

“Please understand, Anya. I don’t tell you this to hurt you. But this game you’re playing _needs_ to end. It _is_ dangerous to pretend to be someone you’re not, especially _this_ someone.” He gasped under his breath when she finally leaned into his touch, her gaze softening and her hands slowly lifting to curl around his wrists, holding him in place. “Anya…” He breathed. “It’s not worth risking your life for such an impossible dream.”

He watched her face, her mind clearly thinking through what he was saying, much to his comfort. Despite their current predicament, it didn’t change how he felt for her. In fact, now that he had admitted this vital part of his past he had been keeping locked up from her, now that her secret was out, he felt as though the invisible wedge that had been preventing him from saying aloud how he truly felt about her was suddenly gone. These dark secrets had been the thing between them that was keeping them apart. And now, despite the betrayal that was still ever present in his chest, he felt himself falling even deeper in love with her. His need to protect her was overwhelming now, and he knew he had to make it his life’s mission to ensure that she had a family in him, that she knew that _he_ would never leave her or forget her or stop loving her. As much as it pained him to admit everything to her, to feel the shadow of her betrayal over him like this, it didn’t change a single thing. If he could save her from those conmen, then he could put this all aside, and return his focus to asking her that vital question he had been mulling over for months.

One thing at a time, he admonished himself. Gleb focused, studying her delicate features for any sign that she had listened, that she would stop all of this and understand him. He saw _something_ in her eyes, saw her fighting with herself, and he prayed and hoped she would listen.

If not, no, no. He couldn’t think of it. He refused to think of what would happen if after all he had told her, that she wouldn’t listen to him. No, this was _Anya_. She _would_ listen to him. She was right. That’s what they did. They listened to each other. She would understand that it was her duty to put an end to this. 

But that look in her eyes, the fire within, it was suddenly so…startlingly _familiar._

Memories of a haughty girl peering at him through the gate, the sound of her voice as she sang songs with her sisters, all those children with their matching, haunted gazes. How she’d looked back at him as the soldiers closed the gate on that fateful day, peering at the strange dark boy in his own yard, whose eyes were set and focused on his father. 

Gleb suddenly dropped his hands as though she had burned him, ghostly whispers echoing in his mind as he staggered backwards. The flower in his pocket suddenly seemed as heavy as a stone. 

“Gleb?” She gasped, and her eyes, those dangerous, dangerous eyes, stared up at him worriedly. He took another step back, and stared down at their shoes, that cold sweat returning. 

It couldn’t be. _She_ couldn’t be. 

Gleb shook his head, dragging a hand anxiously through his hair. 

She _wasn’t_. He wouldn’t _let_ her be. 

These rumors, the lack of sleep, and now knowing what his dear friend was tangled up in, it was all just getting to him. He had filled out one too many report on false Romanovs, had heard too much gossip. It had been too much, over the past months, to revisit that time in days gone past, and now to tell Anya the tale. His nightmares were getting to him. _This_ was all just…getting to him. He had looked into her beautiful face so many times for so long now, gotten lost in those eyes of hers more times than he could count. He would not be swindled. He would not stoop so low as to think she could actually be…

His memories were wrong. Her eyes were wrong. This was _Anya_. 

“Gleb, are you alright?” She reached a hand out to him, but when he looked at her again, it fell back to her side. 

“Please, Anya, just heed my warning. You know that…it’s my duty to put an end to these rumors.” Gleb chewed on the inside of his cheek, his stomach rolling and his head spinning. “And even if such rumors were true, if who you’re pretending to be really _is_ still alive…that I would have to take action, just as my father once did.” His mouth felt dry as he forced the words out. 

“You would really kill me?” Her voice is horrified and astonished, and the inflection on ‘me’ agitates him. In such a small word lay a huge identity. Anya, his sweet, beloved Anya. His Anya, who he had walked and talked with for so long now, who he had laughed with and cried with, who he had grown to love with his whole being. His Anya, whose presence in his life was as vital to him as breathing. 

“No, Anya, never you. But a _Romanov_ …” He swallowed thickly. Gleb shuddered, his knees knocking together as he looked up to stare into her face. Now that he had made the comparison to the Romanov princess, he could see nothing but the Tsar’s deceptive blue eyes in her own beautiful pair. He shook his head, nearly growling in frustration. 

“Listen to me, Anya.” Gleb said gently. “There is still time. You’re in no danger now. But this…this is a warning. The consequences of impersonating a Romanov, let alone leaving the country illegally, are too great.” He drank in a deep breath, forcing himself to keep his composure. “Leave this world of make believe before it’s too late. I _beg_ of you, Anya.” 

She continued to stare up at him, concern and worry etching its way onto her sweet face. Anya stepped up to him and nodded. “I understand, Gleb.” She whispered. Her hand lifted, small and gloved, and pressed against his chest in a featherlight touch. 

“Anya…please.” He whispered desperately, his dark gaze boring into hers. He gaped at her, his heart dropping the longer her stared into those beautiful blue eyes. 

No, no. He would _not_ believe it. No. Anya was Anya. She was _not_ a Romanov. 

But, still. There was that niggling thought in the back of his wretched mind that perhaps the rumors were true, that perhaps the girl he had seen being marched to her death had survived, that perhaps she was standing in front of him now, in the form of his beloved street sweeper. 

Shaking his thoughts free, he focused on the warm weight of her small hand on his chest, and reined himself in. “Take this warning.” 

Slowly, Anya, the proud Russian, his darling friend, the amnesiac street sweeper, not the Grand Duchess, no, never her, nodded at him. Before her hand could slip away, he caught it in his own, and held it tight for a long, agonizing moment. He held her gaze and her hand, his mind and heart battling it out the longer he stared into her beautiful, dangerous eyes. 

“Go.” He whispered. 

She did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took a gazillion years to edit. My eyes hurt from the amount of time I spent reading over it, trying to get it just right. I hope ya'll enjoy it. There's a lot of time jumps here, considering in the movie and show the little trio escapes Russia at the end of winter and get to Paris early spring? Anyways, I hope it's easy to keep up with. 
> 
> I have the next chapter almost finished too, but I may delay in posting it. Or not. We shall see, haha. 
> 
> Also, I can't believe the amount of hits on this story! I was baffled when it hit 1,000, it made my day. So much love. Thank you ya'll!
> 
> Let me know what you think of this chapter! Be kind. <3


	9. Chapter Nine.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the confrontation in Gleb's office, Anya begins to doubt herself until Dmitry reminds her exactly what's at stake. Gleb battles with himself and does some memory searching.

_He knows._

Anya curled her fingers around the edge of the bench she was currently sitting on as the thought swept through her mind. She wasn’t sure how long she had been sitting there, how long it had been since she had stumbled through the streets of Leningrad in a distracted, clumsy fashion, broom dragging behind her, work long forgotten, until her legs had given out on this bench by the Neva. What she did know is that she had had the same thought on a loop, every moment that had passed between her and Gleb in his office going round and round in her memory. Her mind might have forgotten a great deal, but it would not let her forget _this._

_He knows._

Her entire world felt as though it was at a standstill. It was something akin to the feeling she had felt when she'd awoken in that hospital nine years ago, with no memories and no sense of direction. What was she to do now? Where was she to go? What would come next? 

Anya had spent so long feeling so lost, like all she could do was drift across Russia, Paris whispering at her heart, until she had met Gleb. He had brightened her days, had filled her with warmth and security that she didn’t even know was possible to possess. But then…she had met Vlad and Dmitry, and these ideas and stories had been placed in her head. She had had a life before waking up in that hospital and handed a name that wasn’t even hers. She had always hoped that one day she would know the truth about her past, but with the lessons and encouragement from her new friends, Anya had begun to believe that that life might have lived before might have been everything they had described, as far fetched and ridiculous as it seemed. 

It had been a grand secret, keeping it all from Gleb. It had been done mainly to protect her new friends, but it had also been to protect herself. While she knew Gleb cared for her, loved her, even, she knew he would never let her run away to Paris illegally with two conmen. It was his duty not to let things like that happen, regardless of who she might have been to him. 

And especially _who_ she might be. 

Anya grit her teeth against the cool wind that blew off of the Neva. But that wasn’t even possible, was it? She couldn’t really be the Grand Duchess Anastasia Nikolevna Romanov. Not if Gleb’s story was true…

Not _if._ It _was_ true. Anya had seen nothing but the truth in his dark eyes, had heard nothing but utter agony and anger in his voice when he was speaking to her.

But if the Grand Duchess was _dead_ , then what did that mean for Anya? What did that mean with all that she had learned over the past few months? What did that mean for the disappearing faces in her dreams, the flickers of memories that seemed to come back the more she studied, the more she uncovered? 

She _needed_ to find Dmitry and Vlad. But what if they had heard about her getting taken in to see Gleb? What if they ran away, gave up their own idea of Paris and her being royalty and decided it was too much trouble? That _she_ was too much trouble. 

No, she admonished herself, they would never do that. Vlad and Dmitry had proven themselves to be trustworthy and kind, at least to her. They had promised her Paris, promised her she could do this. They wouldn’t just up and leave. She trusted them not to abandon her.

Anya pressed her fingers to her temples. But still. What if Gleb was right, what if she had been deceived? What if Dmitry and Vlad had been lying to her all this time? What if they were just putting these ideas into her head, and she was just stupid and naive enough to believe it? Anya groaned. Where would she go from here?

And where did that leave her and Gleb? Could she really just meet him at the fountain that evening, pretend like nothing had happened? Would he even be there? Or would he be too hurt by her betrayal and avoid her, discard the past year they had spent together?

Tears filled her eyes at the thought, and she pressed her face into her hands. He wouldn't do that to her. She knew Gleb better than anyone. Or so she had thought, after his tale had been uncovered. But no matter how horrible of a past he might have been keeping from her, that didn't erase the fact that he cared for her. He had always gone above and beyond to ensure that she knew how much she meant to him. She had seen it in his office, that quiet, sad look in his dark eyes. She had betrayed him. She had hurt him.

Was Paris really worth all of this turmoil?

An apple suddenly landed in her lap, and Anya jumped, quickly wiping at her face and looking up in surprise. 

Dmitry stood over her, a blank expression on his face as he wordlessly moved her forlorn broom aside and sat down beside her. 

“Are you okay?” He finally asked after a moment of her staring at him in disbelief. 

“I…” Anya blinked, looking down at the apple in her lap. “Where did you get this?”

Dmitry frowned. “Don’t worry about it. Just eat it." 

Anya cupped the apple in her hands, dragging her fingers over the shiny red surface of the precious commodity. He crunched into his own, which made her look up at him in alarm. There might not have been many people around at the moment, but that didn't negate the fact that they were in a public place, and Dmitry was a wanted man. He was so... _stupid._ “What are you doing here? We shouldn't be seen together.” The words seemed foolish as soon as they tumbled out. Her secret was out. Did it really matter anymore if they were seen together?

Of course it mattered.

Dmitry didn’t seem too alarmed by the panic in her face or the startled tone of her voice. “I saw them cart you off, Anya. I wanted to make sure you were okay.” The corners of his lips quirked up in amusement. “I figured you would be, y’know. I knew they’d take you right to _your officer_ and that he’d deal kindly with you.” 

Anya gave him a sour look, slightly hurt by the fact that he hadn’t rushed in to try and stop them or save her. But, what could Dmitry have even done? And he was right. Gleb _had_ let her go. 

“Yes, kinder than I deserve.” Anya said quietly. Her heart clenched in her chest, and she looked away from him and out toward the Neva. “But he does know, Dima. He knows all about our plan to go to Paris, where we've been living, _who_ you think I am… _everything_.”

Dmitry was silent beside her, and she spared him a worried glance. She could tell by the determined set of his jaw that the cogs in his mind were working away, formulating a way around it. 

“We can still make this work, Anya.” He finally said, his confident certainty making her wince. 

“I don’t see how.” She laughed bitterly. “He’s been watching you and Vlad. He’s had eyes on the Yusupov Palace for I don’t know how long. He's been lying in wait for you to make a move. Doing so now would be foolish." She sighed. "And...I wouldn’t be surprised if he had eyes on me now too.” 

Dmitry chortled. “I guess Vlad _wasn’t_ going crazy. Y'know he's going to love saying 'I told you so'.” He sighed. “But, I wouldn’t worry about _you_ , at least. You said so yourself he’d never follow you.” 

“That was before…” Anya waved the apple around. “All of this.” 

“True. But trust me, Anya. Usually when someone gets taken in by the Bolsheviks, especially _your_ Bolshevik they don’t come out." He crunched on another bite of apple, shooting her a look when she glanced at him in disbelief. "I know he's a big sweetheart to you, princess, but your Bolshevik is _dangerous._ Consider yourself lucky you made it out of there with a slap on the wrist.” Dmitry sighed, dragging his thumb over his father’s watch anxiously. 

Anya bristled, but found she couldn't formulate anything she could say in response to _that._

“I guess we shouldn’t go back to the palace anytime soon.” He mumbled around another mouthful of apple. 

“Definitely not.” She half laughed, looking down at the apple he'd given her once again. As hungry as she knew she was, her appetite was gone. The betrayal she had seen in Gleb’s eyes made her too sick to even think of food in that moment. Sighing, she held it out for him to take back. “You and Vlad have travel papers. _You_ should find a way to go.” 

“Yeah, I guess we should start thinking about that. ‘Course, we don’t even have train tickets yet.” Dmitry mumbled offhandedly, taking her apple without putting up a fight and stuffing it into his satchel. Then, he seemed to catch on to something in her phrasing. He sat up straight and looked sharply at her. “Wait, me and Vlad?” His dark brow furrowed together. “And you too...right?” 

“Dima…” Anya turned toward him, a sad smile on her face. “Gleb _knows_.” 

“And?” Dmitry sputtered. “Paris, Anya. You’re going to give _Paris_ up just because he found out?” 

“Do you really think it would be so easy?” Anya shook her head and got to her feet, stepping toward the stone wall that separated the sidewalk from the Neva River. She leaned against it, the wind off the river cold, but refreshing. “I _betrayed_ him, Dmitry. You should have seen the way he looked at me…it was like he was seeing someone else completely. Like…like he didn’t even know me anymore.” Anya choked on her words, pressing her sleeve to her lips as Dmitry approached her. She turned her face away from him as tears welled in her eyes. 

“I might not even be _her_ , Dima. Gleb told me…” She shook her head, unable to relive the story Gleb had shared with her. Dmitry didn't need to hear it. He would not have compassion for him like she did. If anything, it would add fuel to the fire of his hatred for Gleb. She glanced at his protective hand on his father's watch. Not that she could blame him, of course. "He said it's impossible for me to be _her._ " 

"He _has_ to say that." Dmitry grumbled. "He knows exactly what would happen to his precious position and regime if a Romanov was still alive." He took another loud bite, and she had the urge to reprimand him for chewing so loudly, let alone eating, in her presence. "It'd all come crumbling down around him, and he knows you trust him. He probably knew he'd scared you enough to believe him." He sighed, the tips of his ears tinging red as anger rose up inside of him. "But he's fooling himself, if he doesn't look at you, really look at you, and second guess himself." 

Anya furrowed her brow, unsure as to what to say to that. Her head was spinning. She trusted Dmitry, but she trusted Gleb too, if not more. He had no reason to lie about his memories, especially one so grave. He _wasn't_ lying about _that._ She knew he wasn't. His dark memories that he'd shared with her went above his Bolshevik ideals and duties.

“I don’t see what the problem is, Anya.” Dmitry continued. She looked up at him with a frown. “So, he knows. But is that really going to stop us?” He leaned his tall form against the wall beside her. “We were originally going to leave without him knowing before he found out today. He would have been even more betrayed to find out about your escape with you not showing up to go on your precious evening walks, right?” He shrugged simply. “I don’t see why him knowing _now_ should put the brakes on anything when all along this whole thing has been built on betraying him.” 

Anya felt like she had been punched in the stomach. But again, Dmitry was _right_. “Well… when you put it like _that_ …” She whispered. 

Dmitry’s hand reached out and curled around her wrist, his father's watch glistening in the afternoon sunlight. “We are so close to Paris, Anya. I’m sorry about Vaganov, okay, I really am. I know how much he means to you." He grumbled. "But I know how much more Paris means to you. How much everything we have been working towards means to you. How could you possibly just give up now, when you’re so close to finding out who you really are?”

Anya stared down at his hand on her wrist, and then turned to look up at him. “Who do _you_ think I am, Dmitry?” She asked quietly. "Do you really believe she lived, that I'm...that I'm _her_?"

Dmitry drew himself up, his copper colored eyes softening just slightly as he studied her for a moment. “Anya, I _hope_ that you are the Grand Duchess Anastasia Nikolevna Romanov.” He said in a quiet, passionate murmur. "I want to believe that you're her, that Vlad and I aren't crazy for this whole plan. But we won't know for sure until we are in Paris." 

Anya blushed, but she did not look away from his gaze. “I hope so too.” She said tearfully. “I guess…I guess today just really showed me how dangerous this plan of yours is.” She bit down on her lower lip. “Gleb means so much to me, Dima. I know you hate him, but he…he was my only friend long before this possibility ever came about.”

“But as you’ve said,” Dmitry countered, “Paris has been there in your heart of hearts long before Gleb or me and Vlad.” He gave her wrist a slight squeeze before withdrawing his hand. “ _Paris,_ Anya.” 

She sniffled and stuffed her hands into her pockets. “I know.” She whispered, shaking her head. “And I know that I _need_ to go to Paris. Even if I stand face to face with the Dowager Empress and she doesn’t see her granddaughter in my eyes, then…that’s that. But at least… at least Paris.” Anya said breathlessly. 

“That’s right.” Dmitry hummed. “Now, it won’t be easy, but Vlad and I will figure something out. We’ll be out of Russia by the end of the week." He promised. "Don’t know how, given our financial situation, but nothing is impossible I guess.” 

Anya bristled, her heart thudding wildly in her chest at the idea of facing Gleb multiple times after their confrontation, heaping more lies on him after she had somewhat assured him she would listen to him, that she would stop this _game_ , this _fairytale_ as he called it. “No, Dima. Sooner than that.” She shook her head. “Now that he knows, he’s no doubt going to be looking for you and Vlad more than ever. Especially since he thinks you’re just using me.” She shook her head. “Gleb’s far too protective of me to let you two go scotch free. If he sees you in the next few days, he won’t hesitate anymore. Hell, you're even risking that right now, talking to me like this.” She chewed anxiously on her lower lip. “He's been waiting for you two for too long.” 

“I guess you’re right.” He mumbled under his breath, and Anya couldn’t help but smile a little. “’Course _you_ could always throw him off the scent. Just…anything to bide us some time to get the tickets.” 

Anya watched the water, her anxiety building at the possibility of _more_ lies and more run ins with Gleb where she would have to see the betrayal and lack of trust in his eyes. She could hardly wrap her mind around possibly seeing him tonight, at their fountain, let alone pretending for the next few days that nothing was going on. And if he wasn't there, as she feared, there was still that thought that he was now having her watched. She wouldn't blame him for that, no matter how uneasy it made her feel. It's what she got, for lying to him, for keeping such a secret. No doubt nothing would be the same between them now. 

"I suppose I could manage a few days..." She murmured.

"Atta girl." Dmitry chuckled, elbowing her in the side. “Just trust us, Anya. Vlad and I will figure something out and take care of everything.” He glanced around. “Problem is, we’ll have to find him first.”

Her fingertips suddenly brushed over the two tiny diamonds in her pocket, and she gasped in alarm. “Trust.” She whispered, her heart pounding wildly as she slowly pulled her hand out, along with the two little diamonds that were her last link to her past. _That's it!_ “Hold out your hand, Dima.” 

Dmitry frowned. “What?” 

“Just, hold out your hand.” She turned to look up at him, her hands shaking from the weight of her past being concealed in two small diamonds. Dmitry eyed her curiously for a moment before holding out his hand. Anya took a deep breath before carefully depositing the diamonds into his palm. She took a step away, forcing herself not to reach out and snatch them back. 

“Anya?” Dmitry whispered breathlessly as he looked down in alarm. “W-where did you get these?” 

Anya swallowed thickly. “I’ve had them for as long as I can remember.” She whispered, glancing around them to ensure no one was watching them. “A nurse at the hospital found them sewn into my underclothes.” Dmitry’s head snapped up in surprise. “She made me promise not to tell anyone about them, not until…not until I found someone I trusted.” 

Gleb’s face flashed into her mind’s eye, and she nearly burst into tears. All along she had kept this a secret from him, that invisible wedge between them preventing her from ever saying anything about them. Her necklace was one thing, but this, this was another entirely. Before, she always thought it was simply her dreams of Paris that had kept them at arms length from each other like this. But now, with her own secret plans and this understanding of his past and the secret he had kept from her, she understood that _that_ had been the invisible wedge all this time. 

“Why are you giving them to me?” Dmitry asked carefully. 

“Tickets.” She whispered. “If…if we’re still going to do this…we will need tickets sooner than we anticipated. We can't wait anymore. This will be our solution to our 'financial situation'.” Her coat suddenly felt lighter without the weight of the two little diamonds. “Will this…will this be enough to cover that cost?”

Dmitry studied her, his hand curling into a safe, protective fist around the diamonds as he took a step closer to her. The afternoon sunlight made his eyes glow, and she gasped softly as his usually mischievous grin turned soft. He was looking at her like Vlad did sometimes, like she was royalty, someone to be revered. But he was also looking at her like Gleb often did, like he... “Oh, Anya. It’s more than enough.” 

Before she could even blink, Dmitry was wrapping her in his arms and lifting her up off the ground. She gasped in surprise, giving a little squeal as he spun her around. His laugh was loud and jovial, and she'd never heard it when he wasn't doing it mockingly. It was a warm, rich sound that made her heart stutter, and she had to hold onto him tightly for purchase as he continued his twirling of her as if she was a rag doll. Her head was spinning by the time he set her on her feet again, and she could not help the laughter that burst out of her from his exuberant excitement. 

“Are you sure?” He asked, keeping his hands on her shoulders to hold her steady as she regained her balance. 

Anya felt rather lightheaded, moreso from the day’s events and the sudden glaring lack of diamonds in her pocket. But she still nodded, her smile not feeling so forced as she drank in a deep breath. The cold Russian air seemed brand new to her, fresher than ever. She clutched at her necklace, sighing as, “Paris," escaped her lips in a hushed whisper. 

“Paris.” He said like a promised prayer. “With these...we can be out first thing in the morning, Anya.” 

She leaned against the stone wall, her heart pounding wildly in her chest. “First thing…in the morning.” Her heart was soaring. Paris was nearer now than ever before. 

But _Gleb._

She looked up at Dmitry, watching as he carefully placed the diamonds into his red neckscarf before safely tucking it away into his coat pocket. He was looking up to meet her eyes, beaming grin firmly planted on his face, when sudden quick footsteps sounded over his shoulder. 

Dmitry turned, his tall figure shielding her from whoever was rushing to approach them. She anticipated an officer jumping out from behind a lamppost, her nerves being so high, but instead, Vlad was running towards them, his long legs tripping over the two suitcases in his hands as he came to a stop beside them. 

“I’m going to have a heart attack!” He wheezed, his cheeks red beneath his scraggly beard. 

“What’s wrong?” Anya asked in alarm. 

“Officers have invaded the Yusupov Palace. There’s _no_ going back there!” He shot them a glare. “You two are beyond lucky, you know that? My _paranoid_ self had started packing our things just in case something like this would happen, like I said it might, and look, it did!” He wiggled the suitcases at his side, breathless from his run and his babbling. “Anya, I grabbed your books and journal and that blue dress and a few other things, and Dmitry, you’re lucky if you have a spare change of clothes.” Vlad shook his head at Dmitry’s eye roll. “It would serve you right to go pantsless! See, I wasn’t crazy!”

“No…you _were_ right.” Dmitry grit through his teeth, glancing at Anya briefly before turning to grin at his partner. “But we don’t need to worry about that anymore, Vlad.” 

Vlad sputtered. “Did you not hear what I just said? Are you drunk? Why are you smiling at me like that? Anya, why is he-” 

Dmitry pulled the neckscarf out of his pocket and unfurled it, cutting off Vlad’s onslaught of questions at the sight of Anya’s diamonds. 

“Holy mother of Moses.” Vlad deadpanned, suitcases dropping at his feet in surprise. His face grew pale as he looked at Dmitry. “What did you do?”

“She had them the whole time.” Dmitry gestured to Anya. 

“Wha-what do you mean, 'the whole time'?” Vlad whispered, looking between Anya and Dmitry in confusion and disbelief. 

“They were from before I could remember.” She said simply. “It’s a long story, Vlad…but…Gleb now knows everything about what we've been planning. And...” Anya looked up at Dmitry, and at his confident nod, she smiled thinly. “Now, we need to get to Paris before it’s too late. Please. You need to take these and buy our tickets.”

Vlad peered between the two of them as though he hardly believed what was happening was actually happening. Then, with a jovial laugh, he looked back at Anya. His tired blue eyes were sparkling with tears, his smile wobbly and his voice low and quiet as he gently asked, “You’re sure, Anya?” 

“Paris, Vlad.” She murmured quietly, one hand still pressed to her necklace, her gaze pointed downward as she studied the broken pendant. “Paris is what matters most.” 

Vlad seemed to pick up on the apprehension in Anya’s voice and posture. He glanced at Dmitry and then reached out and curled his hands around Anya’s shoulders. “My dear, we are one step closer to finding your family.” 

“I hope so.” She allowed him to pull her into a brief, warm embrace. Dmitry made a face when Anya stepped out of Vlad’s arms, which then earned him a smack on the shoulder by the older man. Anya hardly noticed, stepping away from them to curl her fingers about her broom. “I…I’m going to return my broom and get the wages that are owed to me.” Anya swallowed hard, Gleb’s face coming to her mind’s eye yet again. She slowly turned, the beaming smiles on her companion’s faces enough to lift her spirits, despite the inner turmoil she was now facing. 

“Will you be okay on your own?” Dmitry asked cautiously. 

She nearly laughed in his face. Anya had spent nine years of her life ‘on her own’ until Gleb came along, and then the two of them. “Of course.” Anya said, giving her broom a little spin. “And besides…there’s someone I need to say goodbye to.” 

\--

Anya was frozen in time, looking over her shoulder at him, the sun and wind off of the Neva caught in her hair. Gleb could remember being so irked with her for turning and ruining the surprise, but seeing her now, looking back at him with her brows raised, a smile just about to form on her lips, her gaze so _soft_ when seeing _him_ , was enough to make him forget any and all irritation he could have ever felt. 

Was it _all_ a lie? Was everything that had passed between them just part...part of the act she was playing? Had he been a fool?

The next was of himself, an utter waste of film in his opinion. But Anya had insisted, and who was he to deny her anything, especially on that special day? The edges of his face were blurred by the laugh she had forced from him with her silliness. He hardly recognized himself in his brown suit and relaxed posture and broad grin. But that’s what _she_ did to him. She made him a soft, bumbling man in love, and not the stone cold officer. The Gleb from that day on the other side of the river would never have barked at her like he had today, would have never even dreamed that the situation that had been brought before them could be a reality. 

He _was_ a fool. A complete and utter fool. How could he have not seen it? How could she have made him so blind?

In another one, her hair was windswept, her hands blurred over her skirts as she fought to straighten her appearance as they stood side by side. The girl who had taken their photo had caught them just as his fingers had pressed beneath her chin, lifting her head so he could give her Anya a calming smile. She was looking at him with mild irritation and surprise in her expression, but her lips were quirked into the smallest of smiles. It was a twisted juxtaposition of the morning’s events, with her tears staining her face and the heaviness between them and the chill in the air. 

Was it _all_ a lie?

The last was of the two of them. Anya was tucked against his side, his hand still hovering in mid air near her chin from the surprise of the sudden snapping of a second picture. They were laughing, Anya's eyes creased with happiness, her lips parted in surprise and pulled into a beaming smile. His mother's dimples were even showing in his face, the corners of his own eyes crinkled as an uncharacteristic grin split his face. The Neva sparkled behind them, the sun cast a glow over their faces, and Gleb felt his stomach churn from the joy that was frozen on their faces. 

Gleb wished he could disappear into that day forever. But such a perfect day had held so many secrets. 

How could he have known? 

He felt sick. Anya had been keeping such a secret from him for months now. He’d never thought for even a second that she was capable of doing such a thing, and yet, here they were. 

It did nothing to diminish his love for her. But it sure packed one hell of a punch. 

As hurtful as it was, he could not help but think he was missing something. A vital piece to the puzzle. Anya’s dreams had always led her to believe she needed to be in Paris. He knew that. But to risk so much, to believe the slanderous lies of two slippery conmen instead just seemed _wrong_. There was more to this. There had to be, for this to make even the smallest shred of sense. 

And what if that _more_ he so desperately was trying to make sense of was that none of it had been a lie? He had seen those eyes of hers before, from that time in Yekaterinburg. And now…with all these rumors…what if this was the one time a rumor in Leningrad was true? What if Anastasia _did_ survive, and Anya really was her? But then, _how_ would the girl have even survived? Gleb watched them carry out the family that night, he'd watched them disappear into the darkness and never return. He'd followed his father through the empty house, had _seen_ the destruction of the cellar. _None_ of them survived. Rationally speaking, there was _no chance_ Anya could _really_ be…

But her eyes…the necklace…the flower he had found in Yekaterinburg…her missing past…it suddenly didn’t seem so outlandish to consider. 

And yet, if she _was_ a Romanov…what did that mean for him? Not as Gleb Vaganov the man, he thought unhappily as he looked back down at the pictures of the two of them that were now scattered across his deska. But _Deputy Commissioner Gleb Vaganov._

Gleb shook his head, dragging his hands over his face. He’d not been able to focus on his work for the rest of the day after their confrontation, and thankfully no one dared to bother him. Which was good. He was positive if anyone even tried to interrupt him, it wouldn't end well. Not while these traitorous thoughts loomed in his mind like this.Someone must have tied Vadim to a chair for the boy to not have pestered him the moment Anya left the building. Gleb was certain he would've taken out his anger on the young officer.

He had spent the entire day thinking, stewing in his confusion and his memories and the sting of her betrayal, the pain of it all. And he felt as if he'd gotten nowhere. Rationally it wasn’t possible for Anya to be Anastasia, and yet, here he had sat, mulling over these things as if it just _might_ be true. 

But it just _couldn't_ be. 

Anya had been lied to, coerced into helping two conmen all so she could get to Paris. Gleb could hardly fault her for it, if he was honest with himself. He’d done nothing to encourage her to go to Paris, knowing exactly the kind of people that belonged to such a wretched place. Anya didn’t belong there, and yet, it was all she had ever wanted. And he’d denied her the aid of getting there. So really, it was partially _his_ fault that she’d gone running to those two, believed their promises of Paris and a possible family that might be hers. If he’d been more aware, if he’d just…admitted to her how he felt long ago, he might have saved her from them. Hell, he might have even been the one to help her get to Paris, on a visit legally, and with no fanciful tales of being a Romanov to boot. 

The clock on the wall suddenly chimed five times, and Gleb felt his heart drop into his stomach as he looked up at it. The day was done, and now, it was time to go home. 

He looked out his window onto the Nevsky Prospekt, watching his fellow Russians coming and going as they did every day. From here, he could make out the Singer House, the fountain outside of it, but he did not let his gaze linger too long to see if she was there waiting for him. He’d been unable to look out the window all day, too fearful of not seeing Anya at all, and thinking the worst. 

He wouldn’t really be able to blame her if she ran away from him now. He didn’t really even expect her to be at their fountain as she always was each night. He had shared something dark about his past, she had wept for him, for his father, for what had been done. He had terrified her, he knew. He had kept his own secrets from her. 

And so, he would not be surprised if he showed up at the fountain that evening to find it devoid of her presence.

A little flare of hope flickered inside of him. She had _seemed_ convinced by what he had told her. She had seemed to understand him when he had pleaded with her to stop this game she had been playing, before it was too late. He had looked into her eyes and seen genuine fear, like she was seeing the situation for the first time, as though the danger she had never known was there had suddenly risen. 

But he had also seen something else entirely in those eyes of hers. Or rather, _someone._

Gleb wanted to retch as he swept the photographs into a pile and tucked them into his coat pocket, alongside the little flower that had become heavier than a boulder as the day had progressed. With a sigh, he pulled it out to study it, his heart suddenly pounding wildly as he turned it over in his hands, noting the slight indents that showed it had once fit into some piece of jewelry or bauble from the royal family. 

_Or a Grand Duchess’ necklace,_ he thought with a wave of nausea. 

He quickly curled his fingers around it, needing it out of sight as he pressed his fist to his mouth as an overwhelming dizziness came over him. For months now, he had been carrying it around as if it could be some sort of engagement token or promise for Anya about his feelings. And now, he was deathly afraid of what might happen if he gave it to her. 

If she really was Anastasia, what would he do then? Tell Gorlinsky, fill out his report and then carry out the sentence, just as a good officer in his position would do? Just as his _father_ had done? Gleb sank back into his chair at the thought. 

He loved her too much to ever let that happen. He would protect her until his dying breath, he was certain of that.

But then again, if a Romanov was still alive and he didn’t do his duty for the goodness of Russia as his father before him had, what then? He would surely be skinned alive if it was found out he had let a Romanov go free, let alone being in love with one. The thought alone made his head spin, just the very prospect of being in love with a member of that wretched family, but this was _Anya_ , not a Romanov. He would love her no matter what, wouldn't he?

Gleb drew himself up to his feet again, thankful his head didn’t spin as he unclenched his fist and stared down at the flower in his palm. _One step at a time._ His dark eyes flickered from the flower to the window once more, and he sucked in a deep breath. 

If Anya was at their fountain this evening, he would tell her. He would finally tell her he loved her, regardless of the secrets she had kept, regardless of _anything_ else. He would tell her he loved her, and she would finally know. 

And then? Well. Then they would go from there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was initially going to include Gleb and Anya's second confrontation, but _that_ whole interaction got away from me completely so I thought it deserved it's own chapter. It just would've made this SUUUPER long. Which, I know ya'll wouldn't have minded. But I do like suspense, you know. And organization. ;)
> 
> The next chapter should be up within a few days. It's so hard to decide where to go from here, not going to lie. I've had a plan all along, but even my original draft for these interactions aren't even the same as what I've posted. Things change so fast when you're writing and getting way into it! 
> 
> Enjoy! Comments and kudos give me life. <3


	10. Chapter Ten.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anya has one last night in Russia, and she spends it in the arms of the one man who has always been there for her. Who loved her, despite who she was, and who she prayed would still love her, regardless of who she just might be.

Anya couldn’t stop fidgeting. 

Gleb had yet to show up at the fountain like he’d done during the entirety of their friendship. He was never late. There had been more than one occasion where she had teased him for his punctuality. And yet here it was, a few minutes past the usual time when his grey green uniform came into view, and _he wasn’t there._

He hated her. That had to be the only explanation. He hated her for lying to him, for betraying him. She’d broken his trust, and now, he wasn’t coming. He had _abandoned_ her. 

Anya shook her head at herself. As much as she felt deserving of that, she knew better. Gleb would never just up and _abandon_ her. No matter how grave the situation might have been, that did not align with Gleb’s character. 

But things had changed now. He might not be able to look at her without seeing a criminal. And perhaps because of that, she would not get the goodbye she had been so desperately hoping for on her last night in Russia. 

Anya took one last look around her. Coming up short, she sat down on the edge of the fountain and rested her elbows on her knees. She bent over with her hands pressed to her face, forcing herself not to cry. 

_Come with me,_ she said in her mind, imagining Gleb to be standing before her, _run away with me._ And he would, in her mind, he _would_ run away with her, leave everything having to do with the Bolsheviks and Russia behind, and start anew with her. She could find out who she was, and his hand would be in hers the whole time, his heart open and full of love for her, regardless of who she _might_ be.

“Stupid girl. Stupid, stupid girl.” She whispered to herself, knuckling away the few tears that had escaped and rolled down her cheeks. 

A hand suddenly came down upon her shoulder in a firm, yet familiar grasp. Her heart nearly stopped from the startling, sudden grasp, but it comforted her in one fell swoop. _Gleb._ Anya drew one hand away from her face and reached to clasp her fingers around his gloved hand. She drew in a sharp breath as its owner sat beside her, his familiar essence and musk invading her senses. 

She could not look at him, but she drew her other hand away from her face and moved his hand from her shoulder so she could properly wrap her hand around his. His hand felt limp in hers for a long moment. She was only a few seconds away from pulling away, her stomach churning from the rejection, before he held fast to her, his fingers lacing through hers in a tight grasp.

Gleb was silent and as still as a statue beside her, but he was _there_. He had showed up to meet her at their fountain, just as he always did. He _hadn’t_ abandoned her.

“Gleb…” She finally said, breaking the heavy silence between them. “I’m so…” Anya took a deep breath, forcing herself to look up into his dark eyes. “I’m so sorry.” 

Gleb seemed taken aback, his dark eyes scanning her face in a probing way that made her stomach churn. He seemed haunted, probably from remembering their conversation that morning. She wondered if he had been like she had all day. Unable to think of anything but what had passed between them in his office. 

He regarded her silently for a moment, as though trying to decide whether or not he believed her. Anya waited with bated breath, fixing her eyes directly on his, no matter how uncomfortable it was to hold the contact. Finally, his face softened, and he looked away, his hand giving her fingers a gentle squeeze.

“Perhaps we could talk over a cup of tea.” His voice sounded thick and almost rough in quality, as though he hadn’t used his voice for a long period of time. When his dark eyes lifted to hers again, she felt an unspeakable weight suddenly press down on her shoulders. 

Anya could hardly imagine their last night together being like this. The air around them felt heavy and warm, despite the early evening's chill. She could hardly imagine drinking tea with him and pretending _more_ and acting like she wasn’t still going to go through with her plan to run away to Paris. She nearly denied him, nearly insisted they simply walk to the bridge just like any other night, perhaps even brush him off with a promise of meeting again the next day. 

But, no. Anya could not deny him this. She could not deny _herself_ this. Not on her last night in Russia. 

“Sure.” She said quietly, unable to stop the smile from forming on her lips, despite the nervous pounding of her heart. “I…I’ve heard there’s a teashop just ‘steps’ from here.” 

At this, Gleb’s lips quirked into the smallest of smiles. “Yes, I’ve heard that too.” He said with a slight tremor of a laugh in his voice.

Anya’s heart fluttered from the good humor in his voice, despite the still seriousness in his eyes. She tilted her head to the side. “I feel as if I owe you a _fine_ cup of tea after…all of this.”

He gave her hand a squeeze. “Anya…you hardly owe me anything.” He bit down on his lower lip. 

Anya raised her eyebrows at him, a humorless laugh escaping her. "I disagree, Gleb." She frowned. "After this morning-"

He squeezed her hand and effectively cut her off by firmly saying, “Just knowing that you’re safe, that there are no more secrets between us any longer…is enough for me.” 

_If only it were that easy_ , she thought sadly. Gleb met her gaze, and she nodded quickly in agreement. “Come along, then.” He said softly, pulling her to her feet and guiding her hand into its rightful place in the crook of his arm. 

Anya could not help but press her cheek against his shoulder as they walked. For the first time in a long time, the pair did not speak for their entire walk. Gleb did not even find the heart to hum like he was wont to do. 

She _had_ to fix this. She could not leave Russia with their relationship left like this. It felt like walking on thin ice that would crumble and crack below her feet at any given moment. That was _not_ how _they_ functioned.

But what really could she do now? She was still going through with this plan. She still had an idea in her head that she _might_ be the Grand Duchess Anastasia, despite Gleb’s tale. She was still leaving Russia to find out for sure. She was still leaving Gleb. 

And in the end, he would still be hurt. There would be no avoiding that. 

As much as she loathed admitting it, Dmitry was right. It would have all come down to leaving and deceiving Gleb. And in doing so, it would sever the bond they had built over the course of so many beautiful days and moments together. It was _always_ going to come down to that. Only now, Anya was suddenly made aware of the reality of it, because he had found out.

For months, she had been so busy trying to absorb information and remember memories of a life that _might_ have been hers but also might have had a chance of never being hers to begin with. She had distracted herself with all the preparation of actually going to Paris that she’d never thought of what would happen once the day actually came. 

She’d always felt guilty about it, but her dream of getting to Paris had overridden everything else. It always had, for nine years of her life. And even after she had met Gleb, she never gave up the dream of someday going to Paris. And given his disdain for the city of her dreams, she always knew her going there would never be something that they would reach an agreement on. But it hadn’t mattered. Ever since she’d heard Vera and Diana gossiping about travel papers, her dream had suddenly become so real, and nothing, not even her friendship with Gleb, would stop her from making it come true. 

Even now that he knew, nothing had changed. Her doubts were still there, of course, especially after he had told her the truth about his father. But at the end of it all nothing had changed. Her heart still burned within her, still urged her to go to Paris, to discover who she really was. 

But her heart still burned for Gleb too. He had complicated _everything._ From the very beginning, his presence in her life had complicated this beautiful dream she’d always had. He had shown her what a home could be like, what it would feel like to be loved, and sheltered, and cared for. That should have been enough for her to be content to stay in Russia, just to be with him. 

But _Paris._ She _needed_ Paris. She _needed_ answers. They were tangible things now, not just daydreams or hopes she had built in her heart, something to keep her warm at night. They were real, and right at the edge of her fingertips. 

And she was _not_ about to let it slip away, even if it meant losing _him_ in the process. 

Her heart constricted in her chest, and Anya felt the telltale signs of tears burning in her eyes once more. She swallowed hard, and forced herself to be strong. 

She could do this. She could get through one last night in Russia, and she would spend it in the arms of the one man who had always been there for her. Who had grown to love her, despite who she had been, and who she prayed would still love her, regardless of who she just might be. 

\--

When the pair arrived at the teashop, Gleb was thankful to find it fairly empty. 

Still, he felt the eyes that followed them, eyeing his uniform and Anya's dusty skirt. He decided upon a rather secluded table near the back where they would be less inclined to be eavesdropped on while they talked. Gleb would have preferred to insist on taking her back to his apartment, for the sake of privacy, but part of him feared what might happen in such close quarters. 

And besides, he _had_ asked her to come here a year ago, after that backfiring truck which he had unconsciously named ‘Fate’, had thrown them into each others lives. It felt almost serendipitous of them to be there now, no matter how tense the mood might have been. 

He pulled Anya’s chair out for her, gesturing for her to sit, instantly missing the gentle weight of her hand on his arm, her cheek against his shoulder. She glanced about them, her cheeks tinged pink from the cold and the sudden warmth of the teashop. The low lamplight caught in her hair, in the shadows of her face, and the dangerous shade of her beautiful blue eyes. 

Gleb swallowed thickly, his heart pounding as he stood over her, taking his hat off and setting it on the table. The little flower in his pocket seemed heavier than ever. “I’ll go…order. Do you have a preference?”

Anya bit her lower lip, _those_ eyes of hers lifting to his face. “Anything warm.” She shrugged. “Nothing will beat your mint tea, though.” At this, she smiled slowly, as if urging him to smile back. She wanted the tension crushed just as much as he did, clearly, but it would not come so easily. Gleb merely nodded, giving her a slight quirk of his brow. “But, wait, Gleb.” She said before he could walk away, her fingers brushing his hand to still him. “I offered, here-“ She dug her hands into her coat pockets as though seeking a form of payment, and he bristled, taking a step backwards. 

“Anya, I believe I’m the one who asked you to tea first. Many months ago.” At this, he finally gave her a smile. “My treat.” 

“But…” She started, to which he just shook his head and turned away. 

He briskly ordered a lemon tea and an assortment of biscuits, and then returned to the table. Anya pursed her lips at him, her coat now over the back of her chair. “Thank you, Gleb.” She murmured, absentmindedly patting at her hair.

“Think nothing of it.” He sighed, his eyes catching on the gold chain about her neck. He swallowed thickly and looked down at the empty table for a long moment. The silence between them was heavy, the tension building the longer they waited to approach the subject of that morning. Gleb peeked up at Anya, catching the crease between her eyebrows, the worrying bite of her lip.

“I brought you something.” He said suddenly, and her wide eyes flickered to his face. 

“You did?” She fidgeted in her seat, gaze dropping to follow his movements as he reached into his pocket to pull out the stack of photographs.

“You got them developed!” She exclaimed in happy surprise. 

Gleb handed the photos over. “I did.” He couldn’t help his smile, especially while he watched her scrunch her nose up at the photo of herself looking over her shoulder at him. “I promised you that I would.” 

“That you did.” She murmured, thumbing through them, her smile growing as she looked over each one. Once she reached the one of just him, she lingered over it, even going as far as to caress it. He’d be lying if he didn’t feel a swell of pride in his chest as she sighed, her face taking on a dreamlike quality. Her eyes were full of admiration as she looked up at him, holding the grinning photo of him up. “May I keep this one?” 

“It’s a waste of film.” He couldn’t help but retort, giving her a wink that made her giggle. “But I don’t know of anyone else who might like it.” 

“Just me.” She said warmly, her cheeks instantly turning pink as she looked at his blurred, laughing face once more before tucking it into the safety of her coat pocket.

Anya lingered over the photos of the two of them, and he caught the way her smile faded the longer she stared at them. Gleb frowned, reaching across the table to tuck his fingers beneath her quivering chin, much like the picture currently in her hand, and gently lifted her face so he could look into her eyes. “Anya…” He began, his heart aching from the dewy tears that were beginning to form. 

“Oh, Gleb.” She said quietly. “I never meant for you to…” 

“Find out?” He finished for her, a bit harsher than he had intended. Anya bristled, but when his hand dropped from her chin, she was quick to catch it in her own. 

“ _No._ ” She said firmly, before wincing and nodding. “I mean…I mean yes…I _didn’t_ want you to find out…at least not how you did.”

“How then, Anya?" He asked sharply. "How would you have preferred I find out? It wouldn't have taken me long to realize something was wrong, Anya. Do you think I wouldn't tear Leningrad apart looking for you if there was even the slightest chance that you were in trouble or hurt or just... _gone_?" He asked sharply, holding fast to her hand when she attempted to pull it out of his suddenly strong grasp. 

“I know.” She said shakily, nervously glancing around them to ensure no one was watching them. 

“You _know_?” He scoffed incredulously. “You…you would have _really_ just up and left one day, Anya? Disappeared without even leaving behind the slightest clue as to where you went?” He stammered. "You are not cruel enough to do such a thing." 

She winced, and he felt her pulse grow quick beneath his fingertips. “It just…once it was all decided, it seemed like actually going to Paris was so far in the future. It had been promised to me that it would, so I knew that it was _going_ to happen. But I didn’t stop to think about what would happen when that day actually _did_ come, and what I would do about…well, you.” Anya grimaced, her gaze dropping to his white knuckle grasp on her hand. “I didn’t…plan for you. I tried...but I never wanted to face the fact that one day we would be separated for the sake of my dreams.” 

Gleb’s frown grew deeper. _How_ could she have not even considered him in the slightest? Even if he was incorrect in his yearning for her having deeper feelings for him, how could she have not at least considered their friendship? His heart constricted in his chest as he asked in a low whisper, “Then, Anya, were you _ever_ going to tell me?” 

The waiter took this opportunity to waltz over with their order, and Anya yanked her hand out of Gleb’s grasp to scoot the photos aside, all the while avoiding his gaze and hanging her head sheepishly. Once the tray was set before them, Gleb shot the waiter a sharp ‘thanks’ and a warning glare to send him away and leave them be. 

Neither of them moved toward the tea when they were alone again, despite the sweet smell and the warmth radiating off of both the biscuits and the cups. 

Anya finally lifted her head, her bright eyes scanning his face. It unsettled him, to see her eyes now. He had spent a year gazing into her eyes, loving those eyes, loving _her_ , that he’d never stopped to really _see_ them. The Romanov eyes.

The possibility of her being so was insanity, and yet, he could _see them_ in her eyes, somehow. And he couldn’t look away. He did not _want_ to look away. Those were _Anya’s_ eyes. And he _loved_ Anya. 

But still. The longer he stared into her eyes, the more he felt as if he was drowning. 

Those dangerous immortal pools of blue would surely be the death of him. If she truly _was..._

Anya drank in a deep breath, before murmuring, “I don’t know, Gleb.” 

He swallowed thickly, fighting back the urge to sink back into his seat, to show her that what she had admitted had felt like a punch to the stomach. He straightened his posture as he dropped his gaze to the mugs of steaming tea before them. “I don’t know what to say to that, Anya.” He murmured. 

“I nearly told you so many times.” Her voice suddenly grew desperate. “I _wanted_ to tell you, Gleb. You don't know how many letters I started that I thought I could leave behind for you, the amount of times I thought I could just...try to explain it all and make you understand." She shook her head. "But I…I _knew_ that you would try to stop me. And for the first time in my life Paris was right at my fingertips. It suddenly became a real possibility and ceased being a daydream, and I couldn't let _anything_ , not even you, stand in the way of that.” She took a deep breath. “I _should_ have told you. _I know_ …but I wanted to get to Paris so badly…so much so that I didn’t see what was plainly before me.” 

"Which was?" He asked quietly, his mind processing what she was saying.

She gritted her teeth before looking away from him and saying bitterly, “I think…I think Vlad and Dmitry were preying on my lack of memories and wanted to make me believe I actually was _someone_ , that I really did have a family waiting for me in Paris like I’ve always…hoped.” She sighed. “I just became a big joke to them.” 

Gleb felt his heart warming with compassion for her. He _would_ find those conmen and make them pay for what they had put her through. Despite her deception, it wasn’t _all_ her fault. She had been tricked, and had he been honest with her about his past, he might have prevented this whole debacle and saved her the pain of all of this. 

“I was relieved that when my officers invaded the Yusupov Palace today they did not find you there.” He said quietly, finally breaking and lifting his mug to his lips, taking a slow sip of the warm, sweet liquid. “Though they did not find your conmen.” He mumbled, dark eyes flickering up to closely catch her reaction over the rim of his cup. 

Anya’s face grew pale, but she kept her gaze locked on his own. “I couldn’t find them either.” She murmured, and he raised his brows in surprise at her admission. “I went looking for them after…after I left your office. I…” She pursed her lips, considering her words. “I was going to find them and tell them it was over, that I was done being a pawn in their games. But I... couldn't find them." 

Gleb found himself relieved by the fact that she had gone to seek them out and put an end to it all. At least she had listened to his warning. Still. “Did they know about our friendship?” He asked evenly, and by her expression, she must have known he was testing her. 

“They did.” She said, her cheeks flushing ever so slightly. “They almost didn’t agree to get me to Paris at all, _because_ of it.” Anya sighed. “I don’t think they ever fully trusted me.”

Gleb nodded. “So, you’ve been staying at the Yusupov Palace then, _with them_?”

Anya bristled, but answered him immediately with a nod. 

Gleb gritted his teeth together. “Is that why you never wanted me to know where you lived?” His dark eyes glancing down at the photos on the table once more before flickering up to her face. 

“No.” She said firmly. “I was only staying with them for a few months. Before that…” Her cheeks turned pink. “I lived elsewhere. And I never wanted you to see where I lived then because I was…ashamed of it.”

Gleb’s lips thinned. “You know Anya, about a month ago there was a group of women who came and accused you of exactly what you’ve been caught doing.” Her face paled, but a flash of anger appeared in her eyes. “They said you had been…sleeping under a bridge.” 

Her cheeks grew red with embarrassment as her shoulders sagged. “Oh, Gleb.” Anya winced and stared down at the table, chewing on her lip anxiously. “It’s true. I have spent the majority of my time in Leningrad…sleeping under a bridge.” 

Gleb felt a wash of pity overwhelm him, but he quickly masked it, knowing full well that the only reason Anya hadn’t told him about it all this time was to avoid being pitied. Still, his expression softened. “I take it these women must have been…”

“My ‘roommates.’” She said bitterly, shaking her head slowly. “I never let you walk me home because I was so utterly ashamed of where I ‘lived and just who I lived with.’” Anya took a slow sip of her tea before adding in a gentle voice, “You have been the only good thing in my life, the first person to ever see _me_ and I…I didn’t want your view of me to be tarnished in any way.” 

His brows furrowed together. “It would not have tarnished my view of you, Anya.” 

“I’m sorry, but I have a hard time believing that, Gleb.” She gave him a sad smile. “Had you known I was a _homeless_ streetsweeper who lay her head beneath a bridge with _prostitutes_ …would you have still thought so highly of me?”

Gleb frowned. It did hardly anything to change his viewpoint of Anya _now_. Not when he had known her for a year and knew _her._ She was nothing like those venomous women who had been in his office, not even in the least bit. But even so, he was struck by the fact that had he known all this about her right off the bat, before fully getting to know her, there _was_ a chance it might have tarnished his viewpoint of her. Sadly, she was _right._

“Anya…I still could have helped.” He said quietly. 

Her expression softened. “I appreciate that. But I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time, Gleb. And I…I would have felt bad if you went out of your way to fix a situation I was content in.” A small smile slipped onto her face. “You would be quite worried indeed to know of all the places I’ve been forced to lay my head. A spot under a bridge in Leningrad was a luxury in comparison. Definitely beats the forest in the middle of winter." 

Gleb frowned, his heart clenching as an image of Anya huddled in a dark forest surrounded by snow came to mind. She was so lucky to have survived _that_. She was lucky to have survived a great deal of things, he realized darkly. To his surprise, the desire to rescue her from the cruelties that life had handed to her became almost…overwhelming. “Where will you go tonight, then?” He asked evenly, doing his best not to let his emotions cloud his mind. 

“I’ll manage.” She said quietly, taking a slow sip of her tea. “I always do, Gleb.” Anya tilted her head to the side, bright blue eyes scanning his face. “Don’t worry about me.” 

“How can I not?” He fought the urge to take her hand in his, though he wanted to so very badly. He wanted to take her hand and declare his love for her, and then sweep her under his wing and give her a home and make her forget all the pain of the days past, regardless of everything that had passed that day.

“I’ll find somewhere warm tonight, Gleb. I have a few rubles to spare for a night in a boarding house I know of, actually. Come tomorrow, I will just have to go from there.” She said encouragingly. “Plans have changed after all.” Anya’s eyes took on a far away look. “We weren’t supposed to leave Russia for a few weeks. The winter has been so harsh, and that made their plans of when we would actually leave change more than once. But _they_ had the travel papers at least. All we were waiting for was the weather to ease up and the ticket prices to go down before we could actually purchase them.” She explained.

Gleb nodded, absorbing this information bit by bit and piecing it together. "I see." He murmured.

A forlorn expression crossed her face as she sadly added, “All I can think is that they must have just…left without me.” 

Gleb knew he should not have been so quick to believe her. Anya had been lying to him for months now, and even if he could now understand her reasons, could now understand what game she had been forced to play, his betrayal should have stung him enough to make his trust in her waver. But here he was, his heart full of compassion for her and anger towards the conmen. He blamed _them_ for all of this, for tricking Anya into believing all of this and coercing her into this only to abandon her in the end. She was a smart, resourceful girl, but naive and desperate when it came to Paris and they had used that and her lack of memories for their gain. It was utterly despicable.

Anya swallowed thickly. “I was so foolish to believe them, wasn’t I?” She curled one hand around her mug, the other tapping anxiously against the table top. “I…I should have seen right through them.” 

Gleb set his mug down and reached across the table, lifting her hand into his own, taking great care to be much gentler with her than he’d been only moments ago. “I understand… _why_ you would believe them, Anya.” He said quietly, his lips thinning. “Had I been more open and honest with you about my past…about my father…had you _known_ the truth about the Romanov family…I might have saved you from this hurt.” 

Anya closed her eyes briefly, her sweet face creasing in pain. “Gleb…” 

“You and I are similar. I had a secret of my own that I never wanted to tell you.” He said simply. “It’s too terrible for even me to remember, and I _never_ wanted you of all people to know about it. I thought I was protecting you, by never sharing that part of me with you. But looking at it now…” He shook his head. “I wish I had been more forthright with you, Anya. Despite never wanting you to know, I fear I’ve injured you worse by not telling you. Will you ever be able to forgive me?”

Anya gave his hand a tight squeeze. “Gleb…” She said shakily. “ _I_ should be the one asking for your forgiveness.” Her eyes suddenly seemed deeper as tears welled up in them. “I never should have kept all of this from you.” 

“Anya…” He hummed. “We must agree to forgive each other, and put this whole day to rest.” His brows rose imploringly as he searched her face, taking comfort in her smile, no matter how wobbly or small it might have been. “No more secrets. Agreed?”

Her watery blue eyes scanned his face. “Agreed.” She murmured. 

“Then…” He dragged his thumb over the back of her hand before slowly releasing her to lift his mug. “We should enjoy our tea before it gets cold, hm?”

\--

Anya felt like her heart was going to burst. 

The lies had come far too easily. She was nauseated by how it had taken little effort at all to formulate the tears and words that she knew would kill his suspicions of her. 

But she _had to_. For the sake of all that she had worked for. For the sake of the past nine years of her lonely, miserable life. As much as she adored the man sitting across from her, sipping his lemon tea, she could not and would not give up the one thing that had kept her warm and alive ever since she had awoken in that hospital. _Paris._

Anya absentmindedly took a bite of her biscuit, her stomach rumbling with hunger but her tongue hardly tasting it. There was music playing from somewhere in the teashop, dishes rattled together here and there, and the soft lull of voices mingled in the air. The bustling, busy sounds were a welcomed distraction from her inner turmoil.

It definitely said a lot about Gleb for him to simply believe her like he had. Anya knew she should suspect him, that _he_ should still suspect _her_. But from what she could tell, her lies had worked. Gleb truly believed Dmitry and Vlad had abandoned her, and that she had put this whole Grand Duchess idea to rest. He was all too happy to forgive her and be there for her and pick up the pieces. 

His kindness warmed her heart, but made her feel as guilty as ever. 

Once her biscuit was gone, she settled in her seat, sipping at her tea and fiddling with her necklace. The silence between them was no longer unbearable, but it felt as though there were still so many things left unsaid. Anya lifted her eyes to Gleb’s face, an unreadable expression on his handsome features as he watched her fingers fiddle with the broken necklace. 

She watched him carefully, brows furrowing together in confusion at the odd look that crossed his face before he sharply looked down at the table. It was the same look he had worn in his office that morning, when he’d stumbled away from her as if she had burned him, as if he saw something in her face that…

She looked down, her eyes landing on the little stack of photographs he had gotten developed. She set her mug down and picked them up again, smiling warmly as she recalled that beautiful day together. 

Oh, that they could have just stayed in that day forever! There were no beautifully spun lies, no ghosts of the past, no danger, no fear, nothing! Just her and Gleb, free from titles and free from identity. Just Anya and Gleb. Two people who…

 _Loved each other._

Anya flushed as the thought came over her, and she peeked over the edge of the photo to find him still studying her, only now, he was smiling at her, as if recalling his own memories of that day as well. 

She loved this man, she realized, as she looked back down at the photos with a silly little smile. She loved this man, Gleb Vaganov, and now, in order to discover the truth about her past, she was leaving him. 

“I never lied about that.” She suddenly found herself saying as she brushed her fingertips over the photo of the two of them laughing at the camera.

“What?” He asked, startled by her sudden cryptic statement. 

Anya licked her lips, her stomach knotted with anxiety as she held the photographs out to him. “Everything between _us_ , Gleb, has _never_ been a lie. I just…I needed you to know that.” 

Gleb’s fingers brushed hers as he took the photos from her, his brows furrowing together. “That…that is good to know.” He stuttered, which made her giggle softly under her breath. He flushed, ducking his head down nervously as he studied the photos. “I was so fearful that what happened today would…tear us apart.” 

“Me too.” She said quietly, knowing full well it _would_ be the thing that would pull them apart in the end. 

“Anya…” He said quietly, setting the photos down to reach across the table to take her hand again. “I would never let anything tear us apart. I promise you.” 

_And if I truly am the Grand Duchess Anastasia? Even then?_ Anya nearly begged him not to make promises he couldn’t keep. “I’m very glad to hear that.” She murmured instead.

“I care about you, Anya.” He said gently, and she swore she could feel his pulse quicken. “In a way that runs much deeper than friendship.”

Anya couldn’t stop the little laugh that bubbled out of her. He had said it so _genuinely_ , she couldn’t help herself. “I know, Gleb.” 

“You do.” He chuckled. “Of course you do. I’ve not done a very good job at hiding it, have I?”

“No, Gleb.” She said softly. “You’ve been rather terrible at hiding it, really.” Anya teased, giving him a slow smile. 

“I _have?_ ” He chortled, and she nearly laughed again when she noticed his cheeks coloring. “Why didn’t you say anything?” He chuckled. 

Her lips seemed to quake as she fought the urge to grin as big as she could at him. “Why didn’t _you_?” She retorted. 

His expression shifted into something so soft and vulnerable, she nearly wept from the sight of it. “I am now.” He said gently, his own smile wobbling in what she could only describe as excited relief. Anya’s breath caught in her throat, and she felt her cheeks grow hot as he brought her knuckles to his lips. “You’ve always felt as though someone might be waiting for you in Paris.” He murmured, his gaze dropping to her necklace which she was still fidgeting with. “But there has been someone always here, waiting for you in Leningrad.” 

“Gleb…” She whispered, shivering from just how intensely his dark eyes focused on her face, effectively pinning her in place. This had been what she had wanted, to hear him finally admit to her how he felt about her. But with Paris looming with the next day’s sunrise, her heart ached from just how late the admission was coming. “You mean the world to me.” She murmured. “You have been the only bright spot in my life, in all my nine years of being alone. You have been the only kind face I’ve seen.” 

Gleb’s smile wavered, and he looked down at their linked hands. “I feel as though there’s a ‘but’ coming…” He said quietly, as though preparing himself for the incoming rejection. 

“ _But_ these past few months have been such a whirlwind.” She squeezed his hand in what she hoped to be an encouraging motion. “My own… _feelings_ for _you_ run deep, Gleb. Deeper than friendship.” She added with a teasing air. “But I must catch my breath. I need to…to _heal_ I suppose, after everything those conmen put into my head, as stupid as it sounds.” 

Gleb shook his head, realization and relief washing over his face. “Anya, that’s hardly stupid.” He gave her fingers a gentle squeeze. “I believe you told me once that ‘we have all the time in the world’? And we do, Anya. All the time in the world.” 

Anya couldn’t help but feel her hopes rising with that simple statement. All the time in the world. What if he _could_ accept it one day, _if_ she truly was Anastasia? What if he would wait for her, and come for her eventually? What if she could still have him again one day? 

Anya shook her head ever so slightly, knowing it would be foolish to get her hopes up in such a way. The world was not perfect. She had already gotten her hopes up enough with her dreams of Paris, and now this idea of Anastasia. She could hardly do the same in hopes of Gleb still loving her, even after she had betrayed him and ran away from him. 

But _still._

“You’re sure? I’m not…asking too much of you?” Anya tilted her head to the side. “Especially after this morning…”

“Anya.” He half laughed, his dimpled smile growing as his dark eyes scanned her face. “We’ve already decided to leave _that_ in the past. Asking for time is hardly ‘too much’ of me, Anya. Forgive _me_ for making you feel any sort of pressure.”

“It’s not that, Gleb.” She insisted softly. “I just…I’d marry you this instant if there hadn’t been so much over the past few months, days even, that I still need to process, you know?” Anya felt as though the color faded from her face as she processed exactly what she had just blurted out. She dropped her necklace, her hand clapping to her lips. 

Gleb laughed quietly, but his eyes seem to sparkle from her rather surprising declaration. “I haven’t even asked you _that_.” He said teasingly, holding fast to her hand as she attempted to wrench it out of his grasp. 

“You’re right.” She laughed shyly, her face feeling as though it was on fire. “You haven’t. I'm so sorry, look at me, jumping to conclusions!.” 

“Oh, Anya.” He laughed, giving her hand a squeeze. “I would ask you.” He declared. “ _I will_ , someday.” Gleb promised. “Though it _has_ taken me this long to admit my feelings for you, so who knows how long…erm… _that_ question might take.” He laughed.

Anya’s breathing shifted, and she looked up at him, tears blurring her vision. She could picture it. She could picture it all. She _had_ pictured it all more times than she could count. He would give her his name, and with it, he would give her everything she had ever wanted in life. 

Home, love, family. 

Her heart stuttered, and she had to duck her head down to fight back the tears, to reign in the pain that was threatening to burst within her. _How can I desert you?_ She thought sadly. It seemed maddening for her heart to feel so light and yet so heavy and full of pain like this. 

Anya might be finally going to Paris, but what was she losing in the process?

“Anya…” Gleb crooned. “Please, don’t cry. I hope the idea of future matrimony with me isn’t _that_ painful.” He half laughed, though when she looked up at him, she could see the sudden fear and doubt her tears brought to his otherwise happy face. 

“Of course not, Gleb.” She laughed. “I just…never thought anyone would think of _me_ that way.” 

“Anya…” He began. “ _You_ are the only one I’ve ever thought of in this way.” His voice grew stronger, his eyes growing dewy from the passion he was no doubt feeling. “There’s never been anyone but you. And there never will be anyone but you in my heart.” His dark eyes lowered shyly to her necklace before he met her gaze again. Anya held her breath as he quietly admitted, “I love you, Anya.” 

Anya sputtered out a half sob, half laugh, and she brought her hand back to her lips again in embarrassment as her smile grew wide from his gentle admission. “Gleb…” She whispered, her eyes falling to their joined hands. Oh, how could the utter bliss of hearing those three words attached to her name, to his voice, cause so much pain? It had been everything she had hoped for, before her flight from Russia, to hear him say those three words to her, just so she could _finally_ know. And yet now…now her heart felt as though it was breaking.

_You’re a fool, Anya. An utter fool._

“You needn’t say anything back, Anya. You asked me for time and I will give you all the time in the world. Hell, I would give you the world, if you asked that of me.” He brought her hand to his lips again, his scruff and chuckle tickling her skin. “I would wait a lifetime for you, Anya. I feel as though I already have been, but I would wait more than that, if it means that you and I are together in the end.” 

Anya drank in a deep breath, a soft giggle escaping her as she looked up at him. This man loved her. This man had _seen_ her, a skinny little nobody streetsweeper with no past, and at the time they had met, had no future, and _chose_ her. This man loved her, regardless of her missing memories, regardless of the nothing she had been for nine years. This man _saw her._ This man saw _Anya._

“Your heart is a beautiful thing, my dear friend.” She found herself saying, her chin quivering as she drank in the love pouring out of his beautiful dark eyes. “I only pray and hope I’m worthy of it.” 

_You’re not._

\--

Gleb could have sat there in that safe little teashop with Anya telling her he loved her over and over again for the rest of the night. 

But here they were, arm in arm, walking leisurely through Leningrad to their bridge, as they had done every night for nearly a year now. 

Gleb wasn’t sure how he was supposed to just let Anya go tonight. After everything he had said, after the sweetness of what he knew to be love pouring out of her brilliant smile, how could he ever let her go again?

His stomach churned, despite his happiness and relief at finally telling her how he felt. While he now believed her to be completely disconnected from those conmen and their plan to escape Russia illegally, there was still that niggling doubt in the back of his mind. He would have insisted she stay with him until a proper place could be found for her, or until she was ready for him to ask _that_ question, just for the sake of keeping an eye on her, ensuring her safety, but it would not do for him to overstep his boundaries. 

He had to take her at her word and trust her, to _really_ put what had occurred between them that morning behind them, just as they promised they would. He had to trust that she really was crossing this bridge and going directly to the warm boarding house she had told him about. He had to trust that he really would see her the next day, and that things between them would go back to the way they once were. 

And then some. 

He smiled and glanced down at her as her head shifted on his arm, the warm weight of her leaning there feeling so welcomed after their talk. The dying sunlight cast shadows across her face, but her smile was bright and illuminated when she looked up at him. Gleb fought the urge to sweep her in his arms and kiss her right then and there, though it was all he wanted to do. 

_Time._ She had asked for time and he would gladly give it to her. 

They approached the bridge, and he felt his heart skip a beat as they paused before it, just as they always did. The cool evening air suddenly felt thick, much like it had in the tea shop, only this time, it was much different. 

“You’re sure you’ll be alright?” He asked as she slowly slipped her hand out of his arm. 

There was something strange in her eyes as she smiled at him, her hand lifting to press against his chest. Despite the many layers of his uniform and coat, Gleb was certain that Anya could still feel the quick pace of his heartbeat beneath her fingertips. The simple action took his breath away, and by her widening grin she _knew it._ Gleb fought the urge to roll his eyes at his own foolishly obvious reaction to her. 

“Of course, Gleb.” She considered something, before suggesting, “If you’d like, you can walk me directly to the boarding house. Just so you know I’m safely inside for the night.” 

His brows rose ever so slightly. “I…I would be comforted by that, Anya. But I understand if you’d rather I-“

“Gleb.” She giggled, rising onto her tiptoes to press her lips to his cheek, efficiently startling him into silence. Her breath was warm against his cheek as she murmured, “I think there’s been enough dancing around each other’s feelings, wouldn’t you say?” As she stepped back, she giggled again, her cheeks flushed pink. 

Gleb felt a swell of confidence arise in him that caused him to reach out and curl his hands around her elbows, giving her a gentle tug towards him. “Yes. But _you_ asked for time, _moya solntse_.” 

Her eyebrows shot up at this, both her palms pressing against his chest, tapping against the medals on his uniform beneath his coat. “Is that what I am to you, Gleb? The sun?” She giggled, though her cheeks turned pink from his choice of endearment.

“That, and so much more.” He murmured. 

She grinned. “Then that would make you _moya luna._ ” 

Gleb felt his face go up in flames from the gentle endearment on her tongue, the way she was smiling and looking at him now. He shivered, unable to help himself as he gave her elbows a gentle squeeze, his heart overflowing with love he had for her. 

He was suddenly struck by something that had been weighing on him for the majority of the day, and he released her reluctantly to dig into his coat pocket. 

“I have something for you.” He said, grinning from the sight of the surprise on her face once more. His heart skipped a beat as his fingertips curled around the bejeweled flower and pulled it out of his pocket. His coat suddenly felt empty from the lack of the little flower, but he hardly paid much attention to the sensation as he took Anya’s hand and gently placed the flower into the middle of her palm. “A _tsvetok_ for _moy tsvetok._ ” He said teasingly. 

Anya was in the middle of rolling her eyes and laughing at him as her gaze dropped to the flower in her hand. It quickly died out, shifting into a surprised gasp. “Oh, Gleb.” She crooned, trailing her fingertips over it. 

“Do you like it?” He asked, though by her beaming smile, he knew it was a foolish question to ask.

“It’s _beautiful._ ” She practically sang, turning towards the lamplight to catch a better glimpse of the brilliant green and red coloring of the gems.

“I’ve been carrying it around in my coat for months now.” He admitted sheepishly. 

Anya looked up at him, mouth agape. “ _Months?_ ”

He nodded. “I decided around the time of your ‘birthday’ that I would give it to you, but I’ve been stubbornly waiting for the _perfect_ moment.” He smiled nervously. “It’s just…something I’ve been saving for many years now, Anya. In the back of my mind, I suppose I’ve been…saving it for an exceptional woman. Someone I never dreamed would come into my life, but did.” Gleb brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes, eyeing her pointedly. “I’ve been saving it for _you_ all this time without any idea, really.” 

He knew he was being terribly sappy and romantic, but when it came to Anya, he could not help it. Not when it was the honest truth. He _had_ been waiting for _her_ all this time. And now, nothing would stand in his way any longer when it came to her. He had spent too much of his life without her. He would give her the time she needed to heal from this debacle over the past months, and then, they could finally be together. 

Anya’s bright eyes sparkled with tears, and she let out a happy little laugh as she looked back down at the flower. “Gleb…”

“You asked for time, and I will give you all the time that you need. But I have wanted you to have this for quite a while, and now…given everything between us…I just thought…it was time.” He smiled warmly at her. “Consider it a promise between us.” 

Anya kept her head ducked, her fingers caressing the flower gently. “A promise.” She whispered softly. “Yes, Gleb, I understand.” 

“I thought…” He let his eyes linger over her face, his heart pounding in his chest. “I thought perhaps it could fit your bauble.” 

Anya looked up sharply at the mention of her necklace, her brows furrowing together. She hummed, glancing down at her necklace briefly before looking back up at him. “Perhaps.” She said distantly. “Though what would be the chances, you know?” She smiled sadly. “It _was_ broken when I woke up. Whatever actually belonged there is no doubt long gone by now.” 

“Oh, I know.” He sighed, half out of relief and half out of trepidation. There wasn’t any sign of recognition on her face, though he could read confusion and…something else entirely. 

“Of course, it wouldn't hurt to try.” She said, a spark returning to her features, smoothing away any sort of…something…from her face. Her smile was bright and beaming, her hand curling around the flower safely.

"Perhaps tomorrow we might see if we can make it fit.” He suggested.

"Yes, tomorrow." Anya nodded, her eyes scanning his face, as though she was considering something, as though she was considering _him._ His breath caught in his throat as she stepped closer to him, her arms suddenly moving around him. She rose up onto her tiptoes to reach his shoulder, her cheek pressing down against the grey green wool of his coat. 

Gleb stood with his hands hovering at her sides in stunned surprise. “Thank you, Gleb." She hummed as she wobbled on her toes. 

Grinning to himself, he closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around her. "You're welcome, Anya." He whispered, holding her steady.

“No one has ever done something like this for me before.” She murmured. “No one has ever thought of me or _seen me_ the way you do, Gleb.” Something in her voice crackled, and he could feel her slightly withdrawing as she dropped onto her feet. He followed her, his arms still holding her securely, despite their height difference. 

“I will always see you, Anya. Just as you have been the only one to see _me_ the way that _you_ have.” He said in an encouraging voice. She lifted her head to smile at him, and he gently brushed her tears, her _happy_ tears, out of her face in the process. 

Gleb pressed his lips to her forehead. She lurched back ever so slightly, laughing softly, and he flushed, remembering that it had only been just that morning when he’d realized he hadn’t shaved in a while, and would need to soon. It seemed maddening that that had only been a thought from that morning, and not eons ago. The day had felt so long, so full. 

Gleb held her tighter as the realization washed over him. He had nearly lost her today. She had nearly slipped right through his fingertips, never to be seen again. He thought back to the group of women who had accused her, to those two conmen and all the great lies they had heaped upon her. All these factors had entered the scene, ready to tear them apart, and now…

Now Anya was in his arms, the most beautiful smile on her lips, the most contented expression on her face. Because of _him_. He moved one hand to her chin, lifting her face so he could look into her eyes. 

Dangerously beautiful blue eyes peered up at him, much like they had nearly ten years ago, as the soldiers closed the gates...

Gleb shuddered, but the expression, the gleam in her eyes, the possible _identity_ in her eyes, did not ruin the moment. He drank in a deep breath, his own smile unstoppable as she lifted her free hand to brush over his cheek. 

“I’m sorry; I know I should have shaved.” He murmured, breaking the tender moment between them. “Things have just been rather… _hectic._ ”

Anya laughed, scrunching her nose up and quickly shaking her head. “I like it, Gleb.” She crooned. 

“You _do?_

_Anya grinned, her cheeks growing pink as she nodded. “Very much so.”_

“So I ought not to rush home and shave, then?” He asked teasingly. 

“Don’t you dare.” Her voice was soft, and sweet as ever, but Gleb shivered from the slightly commanding tone of it, the way she fixed him a look that promised punishment if he disobeyed her. 

“Is that an order, _comrade?”_ He asked teasingly, memories of that rainy day in his apartment coming to mind. She must have been remembering too, because her blush deepened, and she burst into a fit of giggles.

“ _Gleb._ ” She grinned, bringing her hand back to rest against his cheek. Gleb leaned into her touch, sighing as she dragged her thumb across his scruff. He could not help the hum of contentment and the closing of his eyes from the feeling of her gentle touch. 

Anya suddenly stepped closer to him, if at all possible, and he suddenly felt her hand move to the back of his neck. He shivered, his tall form bending closer to her as her breath skimmed his lips. She was trembling in his arms, and he was certain his hands were shaking around her waist. Anticipation caused his heart to pound, and it struck him that he could feel Anya’s own stuttering heart against his chest as she came closer. 

Time seemed to stand still as her lips brushed across his. She shivered, withdrawing almost instantly, the ghost of her kiss leaving a warm chill behind on his lips. He opened his eyes to find her blushing, a nervous expression on her face as she looked up at him, her brows creasing together. 

“I…I don’t know what I’m doing.” She admitted anxiously. 

“It looks as if you’re stealing a kiss, comrade.” Gleb said teasingly, his voice sounding oddly low. “Is that what you intended to do?” 

“Maybe.” She whispered.

He pressed his forehead to hers, dark eyes scanning her eyes, her _dangerous_ eyes. _Did I just kiss a Romanov?_ He thought to himself in horror, his stomach churning as he grappled with the decision to believe the rumors, or to stifle them down so deep until he went back to never doubting the truth he had grown up with. 

But. Anya was smiling at him, her lips trembling with nerves as she tilted her head, her lips caressing his again in the gentlest of brushes. Gleb found he cared less and less when she finally pressed her lips firmly against his, almost clumsily.

Gleb held her steady, unable to help himself from smiling against her lips. His head was spinning, time was meaningless, and Anya, the woman of his dreams, the woman he loved with every breath he took, a possible _Romanov_ , was in his arms, and choosing _him._

\--

This was a dream. A beautiful dream that she would wake up from. 

When she would wake, everything would be as it was before that morning. Gleb still wouldn’t know. She would be cold from the lack of a fire in the Yusupov Palace, and her hands would ache from anticipation of a day full of street sweeping. Gleb would walk her to the bridge, and she would lean on his arm, silently counting down the days until she was in Paris with a mixture of disdain and joyfulness. 

A dream was the only way she could explain such a perfect moment happening to _her_. 

Gleb was holding her in his strong arms, his tall form dwarfing hers as he leaned over her. His hands were firmly wound around her waist, and she was certain if he let go, she would crumble, that her knees would give out and she wouldn’t be able to stand again. 

But his _kiss._

She had always dreamed her first kiss would be with a handsome prince in Paris. It had been a childish dream, but it had been her dream nonetheless. She would be standing on a bridge, that one from her dreams, and he would be handsome and love her and the fairytale would come true. 

But here she was, standing on a bridge in St. Petersburg, about to run away to Paris, kissing a man who was not a prince, but who _was_ , in his way, _her_ handsome prince. He loved her and while she did love him back, it was not at all what she thought her fairytale would be. 

She had never expected it to be like this. She had never expected it to come in the middle of her story, to not be in Paris, to still have no idea who she really was and nowhere near a happily ever after ending. She had never expected she would be in the arms of an officer, in Leningrad, on a bridge that was not her possible grandfather’s, but was infinitely special in it’s own way, because it was _theirs._. 

She never imagined it would be this… _wonderful._

Gleb’s lips were warm and sweet from the tea, but she was almost positive any kiss from him would be as sweet as this. He guided her through the most perfect first kiss she could have ever hoped for. It suddenly didn’t matter that it wasn’t happening on that bridge in Paris. It didn’t even matter that she would be torn from him tomorrow. What mattered was that this was no dream, that it was really _happening._

Anya felt like her head was spinning as she reluctantly broke away, a soft whine escaping her as her lungs burned for air, her lips aching for _more._ Gleb held her tightly, his hands moving to cup her face, his forehead pressed to hers as they drank in deep breaths. 

“Darling Anya.” He breathed, his dark eyes scanning her face before he tilted his head up, pressing his lips to her nose. “Sweet, darling Anya.” 

Anya nearly burst into tears from the tenderness in his voice, the gentle endearments falling from his mouth so effortlessly, as though they were _made_ for _his voice_ to say to _her_. She clutched him tighter, the flower he had given her digging into her palm, sharply reminding her of the reality of the situation. 

Anya wanted to run away. She wanted to run away from the ghosts of her past, from Russia, from _everything_ , and take him with her. She didn’t want to be anyone but Anya. She didn’t want him to be anyone but Gleb. She just wanted _him._

Anya half sobbed and half laughed, and without really thinking straight, she was the one closing the space between them this time, less clumsily and without as much trepidation. _This_ kiss felt fiery, almost desperate, as though everything that had been between them all day, all _year_ was finally coming undone and shattering into a million pieces around them. Anya wasn’t sure if she stepped toward him or if he had dragged her closer, but she did find it easier to keep up with the pace they were setting the longer she was caught in his embrace. 

She dragged her fingers up his neck, into his dark hair, and the soft groan he released into her mouth nearly had her melting into a puddle on the ground. Reluctantly, they needed to part again for air, but they refused to let each other go. Gleb held her close, his lips pressing soft kisses along her cheeks, her nose, her chin, her forehead, and then her closed eyes. 

Anya shyly lifted her gaze to meet his own. What did one do or say after a first kiss? How could time continue to pass normally, life sweeping by them as though such a monumental occasion hadn’t just happened? Anya felt like that day on the other side of the river, when the colors had seemed so much brighter, when the air seemed sweeter and nothing else in the world mattered but the two of them. 

Gleb looked at her now very much like he had on that day, like he had on so many occasions since. Like she hung the stars in the sky, and this time, she did her best not to shy away from such an expression. With a smile, she rose onto her tiptoes, thankful for his hands holding her steady, and pressed another soft kiss to his lips. He hummed when she pulled away, his head tilting down as though to chase her, as though to steal another kiss. 

Anya giggled softly. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have kissed you, _moya luna._ ” She teased, laughing again when his eyebrows shot up into his hairline as he blanched in surprise. 

“And _why not_?” He demanded, his hands grasping her tightly, his dark eyes taking on a dangerously playful gleam. 

Her cheeks turned bright red as she quietly admitted, “Because all I want to do now is kiss you, and it’s growing awfully cold, and we cannot stand out here all night kissing until our lips fall off.” 

Gleb burst out into laughter, catching her off guard, and she was struck by the brilliance of his wide smile, the deep dimples hidden in the dark patches of scruff along his face. He was wonderful, truly wonderful, and she _loved_ him, but she _had_ to leave him. 

_I love you,_ was on the tip of her tongue, but she could not say it. She could not drive the knife into his back, to say it and then run away after she promised she wouldn't. She could content herself with having heard him say it, could take this memory with her to Paris to keep her warm. She could hope that maybe, maybe someday their paths would cross, that they _might_ have a chance somewhere down the line. 

If not…Anya would rather not think about what might happen if not. 

“All the time in the world.” He murmured, as though reminding himself of the promise they had shared. Anya nodded firmly at him, despite the promise of a getaway first thing in the morning looming over her head. 

His thumbs caressed her face, and she smiled warmly up at him, shivering as he leaned towards her once more, his lips caressing hers, guiding her in a slow, warm kiss. She shivered, clutching his gift in one hand and the lapel of his coat in the other. 

_One more_ , her heart cried as they broke apart, _never let this end, I beg of you._

But the night was coming closer, the air growing colder, and Anya knew that time was running out. Her chin trembled from the thought, and she ducked her head down, holding him in one last embrace, her ear pressed against his chest to listen to the thrumming sound of his heartbeat. She locked the sound away in her ear, breathing in his musk, memorizing the warmth and feeling of his arms around her. 

“Anya…” He sang in her ear as he held her securely, one hand gliding through her hair. “How can I let you go now?” 

Anya shivered. She knew by the romantic, warm tone of his voice that he was simply speaking in a figurative, _sappy_ way. Even so, it sent a shock of anxiety through her, and she fought the urge to lurch away from him in surprise the way a wounded animal that was caught in a trap might have done. Anya could tell he was not playing a game with her, that he did not know the truth behind her many lies, that he genuinely was asking the stars above how he could possibly be parted from her for the night. She _knew_ that, but it still did not stop the anxiety from forming in her heart. 

“Tomorrow is a new day, Gleb.” She said as evenly as she could.

“Yes, you’re right. Forgive me, I just…I never thought…” He trailed off into a low chuckle, and she melted against him from the sound of his voice, the feeling of it rumbling against her chest, her heart so endeared toward him she could hardly see straight. “I always _hoped_ we would find ourselves _here_ …but I never _dreamed…_ ” 

Anya licked her lips, catching the faint taste of lemon tea as she looked up at him. She could find no words to say. Nothing seemed adequate for what she was feeling in this moment. And it seemed that words were not necessary as he stole one more kiss from her before giving her a teasing look and putting some space between them. 

Anya pouted her lips at him, but nodded as he laced his fingers through hers, drawing her to his side as they crossed the bridge together. She longed for the walk to the boarding house to last an eternity, if it only meant she could hold his hand for just a bit longer, to prolong their last moments together and make it mean that she did not have to face him and lie one last time with the promise to see him the next day. 

But, that was not how this worked. They walked up to the dingy boarding house Anya had utilized in her time in Leningrad only once or twice when she had a few rubles to spare on especially cold evenings. Dmitry and Vlad were waiting for her inside, as they had agreed earlier just before she had run off to meet Gleb. 

“You’re sure you’ll be all right?” Gleb asked as they paused just before the building, his dark eyes taking stock of it, his nose scrunching up from the sight of it. 

“Of course, Gleb.” She promised, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “I’ll be just fine.” 

He chewed on his lower lip, and for a brief moment, Anya was struck with the fear that he would insist on seeing her inside. That would mean he’d chance a glimpse of Vlad and Dmitry, and the whole plan and the entire night would come crumbling down around them. Instead, when he took a step forward he surprised her by wrapping her in his arms for one final embrace. 

“Then, goodnight, _moy solnste_.” He murmured, his voice warm and smooth against her ear. She shivered, leaning into his touch. 

This was it. This was the last time she would see him, for who knows how long, if ever again. But _Paris._ Tears filled her eyes, but she quickly closed them and buried her head in his chest, holding him tightly. “Goodnight, _moy luna._ ” She whispered, thankful her voice came out strong, and not as weak as she felt inwardly. This could not be goodbye, no matter how much it felt that way. Anya found comfort in the fact that saying 'goodnight' felt like the better alternative to saying 'goodbye'.

His hands began to slip away from her, and she forced herself to disentangle herself from him, rubbing her eyes on her sleeve in the process and pasting on a smile for him as she lifted her head to meet his gaze. His beautiful dark eyes shone with so much love for her, causing her heart to skip a beat. With a beaming smile, she rose up onto her tip toes and pressed her lips to his. 

_One last kiss._

“Until tomorrow.” He said warmly, his fingertips dragging over her jaw before cupping beneath her chin to lift her face. His expression was still concerned, but there was so much _hope_ in his dark eyes that she could not help but absorb some of it herself, despite the pain their separation would bring them. 

“Until tomorrow.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SO SORRY. 
> 
> That being said, I hope ya'll like this chapter! I can't even believe we've hit ten chapters!!!! 
> 
> As usual, I over analyzed every little bit of this. I'm always worried I'll repeat myself or not make any sense, so I do like being thorough when it comes to the editing process. I'd love to know what ya'll think of it. It's pretty heavy and sappy and everything in between, but as I've said multiple times before, I do love hearing your feedback! 
> 
> Shout out to Google Translate, haha. 
> 
> moy solnste-my sun  
> moy luna-my moon  
> tsvetok- flower  
> moy tsvetok- my flower
> 
> Thanks! <3


	11. Chapter Eleven.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beginning of a totally illegal lovely getaway.

Leningrad was quiet, the skies above cloudy and dark. The early morning hour left the streets empty, aside from the quiet scuffing of Anya's shoes against the pavement. Here and there, she could catch a glimpse of brilliantly sparkling stars between thick patches of clouds. She was all alone, the familiar pavements under her feet and sky above her her only companions. Anya couldn't have asked for a more perfect moment, a more perfect goodbye to this city.

It had been part of Dmitry and Vlad’s plan for the trio to leave the boarding house separately. Their train was set to depart before sunrise, which meant that Leningrad would still be fast asleep when they slipped out of Russia. Seeing as Vlad had been right all along in his paranoia, it certainly would not hurt if the three of them spaced out the time of their departure from the boarding house and then headed in opposite directions. That is, _if_ anyone was even watching them at all. While Gleb had not known to even look for Vlad and Dmitry in that boarding house, having believed her when she said she couldn’t find them and was done with the Romanov rumors, there was still that chance. 

Dmitry and Vlad hadn’t pushed her when she’d come upon them in the boarding house, and she'd hardly had the strength to really muster up much of anything to really say after her evening with Gleb. She'd assured them of Gleb's ignorance and their safety and left it at that, but by their sympathetic looks, she knew they understood the gravity of the entire situation. Vlad left her alone about it, but she felt Dmitry's curious gaze on her as they curled up on either side of her on the small pallets that were provided by the boarding house. It would hardly matter to be seen in such a place in that position, given the amount of strangers crammed in the same room doing the exact same thing in order to keep warm. Anya was grateful for their familiar warmth and the sound of their voices as they whispered to her their plan for the next day, tomorrow, _today_ , before promptly falling off to sleep. Anya had simply laid there, unable to sleep as her mind ran wild. She'd replayed the happy moments between her and Gleb in her mind, the feel of his arms around her, the sound of his voice whispering how he loved her, the touch of his lips on hers. She thought about Paris, about her future and her possible identity. She lay there quietly as the night grew darker and colder, Dmitry and Vlad snoring beside her, Gleb’s flower in her hand, eyes cast toward the ceiling. 

She must have fallen asleep at some point, because she was awoken by Dmitry’s gentle shake when the time came for them to slip away. Wordlessly, Anya had gathered her things and slipped out of the boarding house alone. She forced herself to steer clear of the Nevsky Prospekt. While she longed to catch one last glimpse of The Singer House, her and Gleb’s fountain, their bridge, it was much too risky. 

Anya reached up to adjust the scarf she had wrapped up around her face, thumbing away the few tears that had stubbornly escaped at the thought of Gleb. 

_Tomorrow is a new day._

Her simple statement _should_ have been comforting. _Tomorrow_ was meant to be a warm balm, a comforting promise that what had passed between them had truly passed, and that it wasn’t all a dream. 

No, Anya thought with a pang of regret, it truly _was_ a beautiful dream. To even entertain the ‘what if’ of that simple statement meant nothing when aligned with the reality of what was truly happening. _Tomorrow_ , no, _today_ , held nothing that it should have. Anya and Gleb would not be embarking on any new adventure together. They would not be taking the next step in their relationship that would no doubt strengthen the bond of the strange connection between them if given the chance. There would be no plans for their future together. 

That beautiful dream of a future with Gleb was gone now. Dashed away the moment the door of the boarding house had closed on his handsome face. And after she stepped foot on the train headed for Paris, there would be no getting it back. 

Anya had been anticipating the pain of losing him. But she had never imagined it would be like this. It was reminiscent of those long lonely days from the beginning, when she’d hardly bore her name for long, when her limbs had barely healed and when the winter had been so cold and isolating, leaving her feeling so very empty. Losing Gleb was like reliving those terribly quiet, lonely days all over again. 

But. _Paris._

Ever since she had awoken in that hospital, Paris was what she had used to fuel the dying fire deep inside of her. On those miserable and lonely days, when the cold had crept into her bones and the shadowed nightmares had begun, the thought of the beautiful city that was etched into her necklace was all that had kept her alive. The dream of Paris was what had driven her across Russia. And now she would need to gather her strength once more, to do just as she'd done all those lonely days. She had to believe in Paris, believe it would finally answer the questions she'd had ever since she'd awoken a stranger. She was nearly there, so close she could almost reach out and touch it. And so, it would have always come down to this. She forced herself to remember that, forced herself to remember that leaving Gleb would have _always_ happened. 

Before Dmitry and Vlad had brought her the possibility of her true identity being the Grand Duchess Anastasia, Anya always thought she’d just disappear on her own one day. Leningrad had simply been a stop along the way in her trek across Russia, and though she had been stuck there longer than she had anywhere else, she could never see it becoming her home. She thought perhaps she’d save up enough money for papers and tickets and slip out of Russia unnoticed. Even when Gleb had come along, when their bond began to grow, the plan was still the same in the back of her mind. And that said a lot, didn't it? That no matter how much she loved Gleb, how much she yearned for the love and family he would give her, it wasn't enough. She had thought maybe, just maybe she could give up these dreams and content herself to stay in Leningrad, at Gleb's side. But these questions could not go unanswered, and she feared her nightmares and the shadowed figures within them would not go away until she knew the truth. 

But there was a chance that maybe things _would_ have been different, if she allowed enough time to pass. Even now, her heart ached at the thought of being parted from him, regardless of the drive within her to get to Paris. She mentally kicked herself as she pictured all the moments they'd shared together, when a nagging voice in the back of her mind reminded her of Paris, how much more it would hurt the longer she let their relationship build. She had never meant for either of them to become so attached to each other like this. Perhaps she should have put a stop to it all so long ago, perhaps on that fateful day with the backfiring truck.

But how could she have _known?_

Things would have been a lot easier if she could see where the different paths of life might lead her before she decided which path to take. Her decisions might have been different, if she'd known what she did now. She might have sold her diamonds a lot sooner, might have saved up enough to get out of Russia the right way, long before she’d ever even known Gleb Vaganov or the impact he could have upon her life. She might have gone to Paris as simply Anya and never once questioned the possibility that she might be the lost Grand Duchess. 

It was all too painful to consider. And it was all absolutely _pointless_ to consider. Her life was as it was, and no amount of wondering and questioning would change anything. And she wasn't sure she wanted to even change anything. Even if she never saw Gleb again in her life, she would forever treasure the love he had shown her, or how she could love him in return. And now, her path was set, and her choices in the past had been made. This was simply the way of Anya’s life. One big risk, one big leap of faith. 

And now, this chance was _all_ she had. 

Anya shook her head, jostling the borrowed cap that she had used to conceal her long strawberry waves up into. Dmitry had given her his cap and jacket, knowing if by some chance someone took notice of her, she at least wouldn’t be recognized by her familiar plaid coat and bright hair. Throw in her scarf along with the disguise and she might be mistaken for a passing street urchin. 

Which, she always had been before. 

But after she stepped foot on that train, she wouldn’t be anymore. She would no longer be a nameless orphan girl or an amnesiac shadow of a street sweeper. She would simply be Anya, a girl chasing her dreams. And then, there was a chance for her to be someone else entirely. Someone with a family and a home.

And that chance was exactly why she hurried her steps the closer she got to the train station. The time for looking back, for hesitation, was gone. The time to move forward was now, no matter how much it pained her to close the door on Russia, and leave the one she loved so dearly behind. 

Anya hugged Dmitry’s heavy brown coat around her small frame as she walked up the steps and into the train station. Given the early morning hour, the station was hardly full, but the bustle that was there made it easy for her to disappear into. Anya didn’t make a show of glancing around for her traveling companions. They promised they would come to her. 

And thankfully she didn’t have to wait too long for that to happen. After only a few moments of standing alone, Anya felt the familiar presence of Vlad just behind her left shoulder. And after a beat, Dmitry came alongside her on her right. She acknowledged them both with a passing glance over her shoulder. 

Her companions clutched the suitcases Vlad had hurriedly packed in his haste to get out of the Yusupov Palace the day before, along with the precious travel papers and tickets. Anya’s gaze immediately honed in on the papers as Vlad inconspicuously sorted through them before holding hers out to her. 

Her hands trembled as she reached out for them. The gentle weight of them caused her fingers to tingle, and she was struck by how _real_ they were. Her eyes welled with tears at the sight of them, her tickets to freedom. She pressed her free palm to her chest as she fought for composure. Anya drew strength from the feel of the papers in her hand, and the cool weight of her necklace pressing into her skin to gently remind her of exactly what she had to do.

 

\--

Gleb adjusted the collar of his coat for what was probably the fiftieth time since leaving his apartment. The sun would not rise for another few hours, but his duty called him forward. He’d hardly gotten much work done the day before, given the whirlwind of events that had taken his focus far from where it needed to be. Today, he would need to catch up, and then manage an entirely new day’s responsibilities. 

He hoped that by some chance he’d lose himself in his work and make the morning go by quickly, in hopes of seeing Anya while out on his patrols. He’d hardly been able to sleep the night before, being too afraid of falling asleep and awaking to find that everything that had passed between him and Anya was nothing more than a beautiful dream. Much to his delight and disbelief, he knew that it was no dream, that everything that had passed between them really _had_ happened. And after such an eventful day, sleep was what he had needed most. It had been foolish of him to let his emotions cloud his head, because now here he was on an early morning, utterly exhausted. 

Stifling a yawn, Gleb stuffed his hands back into his pockets. The snow that had blanketed Leningrad for months was nearly all gone. Finally. But, the air was still frigid as ever. Despite his thick wool coat and uniform beneath, the cold had crept into his skin somehow. He quickened his steps, longing to be in his warm office, mug of tea in hand to warm him from the inside out.

But that would have to be delayed, he realized with chagrin as he looked up to find the train station looming ahead of him. One piece of business he hadn’t been able to ignore the day before was making arrangements for the group of officers that would be boarding the train to France. The plan was to make it look like they were escorting the Russian ballet, ensuring they made it out of the country safely. Really, the main objective of his men would be seeking out a certain Count who had been evading them for far too long, as well as finding anyone illegally attempting to leave the country on the early morning train.

He hadn’t known all that Anya had gotten herself entangled with when he had set the plans in motion. Now he was somewhat grateful for it, seeing as her conmen might attempt to escape on the early morning train. Perhaps in seeing off his men, he’d catch them himself, and have some good news to warm her with when he saw her on his patrols later. Some sort of comfort to know that the men who had strung her along with such lies were finally being brought to justice, as he’d promised. 

Even if not, it would hardly matter. He just wanted the day to be over, so that he might be able to spend time with her. He supposed it was foolish, but truly, he wanted to look into her eyes and be assured that everything that had passed between them really had happened, that it was true, that she knew he loved her, and that he knew she loved him too, even if she had not said it yet. He smiled to himself, ducking his head as he slowly moved up the steps into the train station. 

In his mind’s eye, he could still see her smiling face on the steps of the boarding house, how she’d seemed as reluctant as he’d felt to be parted, if only for just an evening. He was absolutely certain that if he met her on his patrols to find that she'd changed her mind, if her need for time was diminished and she ached for him as much as he ached for her, that he would take her away and marry her before the sun could set. 

He had waited so long for her. To wait any longer would be torture, but he knew he would wait a lifetime for her. 

Gleb paused just outside the doors, adjusting the brim of his hat as he fought off a grin. He needed to be seen as the steadfast and firm Deputy Commissioner. His head was high in the clouds, and he knew his men would be able to tell if he couldn't stop smiling just from the thought of her. Gleb forced himself to gain composure, to remember his duties. He could not be seen grinning like an idiot over a girl. 

But she certainly was not just _any_ girl, he thought with one last ghost of a smile before entering the train station. 

Pretty ballerinas mingled with other travelers and their voices blurred together in a rather loud hum that bounced off of the train station walls. It was fairly warm within the station, and Gleb felt his limbs beginning to thaw as he kept his head down and made his way to the far corner of the station where his officers would be grouping just before boarding. 

“Comrade Ivan,” Gleb hummed as he approached the group, “Lovely day for a train ride, hm?”

“A fine day, sir.” Ivan said briskly, his gloved hand resting on the pistol belted to his waist. 

Gleb glanced toward the group of officers. Much to his surprise, Vadim stood among them, gaze cast out toward the growing crowd of travelers. Gleb was rather impressed by the vigilance on his young face, though there was the slightest creeping irritation leftover from the day before for his being the one to bring Anya forward. Of course, given that his actions were what brought the truth out and brought he and Anya to that place of admitting each others feelings for each other, he supposed he couldn't be _too_ upset with the boy. He was only doing his duty, like a good soldier would do. Once Vadim was made aware of Gleb’s presence, it was nearly comical to watch his stoic posture shrink ever so slightly, his open expression growing soft and nervous. 

“Vadim.” Gleb addressed the him directly, fighting off a chuckle when the boy visibly flinched. It would be cruel to tease and embarrass Vadim in front of his fellow comrades, so Gleb refrained, no matter how much fun it might be. Anya had brought out a playful side of him, but it would not do to let it mingle in with his duties. And given Vadim's pale face, it was obvious he expected the Deputy Commissioner to be upset with him. “You did well, yesterday.” Gleb finally said after a beat of making Vadim wait in anticipation. “We’ve received a wealth of information from the girl you brought in about those conmen and their Romanov plot. No doubt Gorlinsky himself would like to speak to you about the matter, and though I make no promises, a promotion may be in order.” 

Vadim's brows lifted curiously, almost as if he was positive Gleb was playing a prank on him. “I…” He stuttered, his tense shoulders growing slack. Gleb waited patiently, the corner of his lips quirking up into a slight smirk as Vadim fought to hold decorum and not gape like a fish. “Thank you, sir.” 

Gleb nodded. “Upon your return, I shall set up a phone call with him directly, hm?” 

Vadim’s boyish face lit up with a wary smile. “Thank you sir, that would be much appreciated.” 

Gleb turned his attention to the other officers, giving them an inconspicuous and quiet speech about remembering what they were fighting for, how they ought not to hesitate, and to do what was right for the motherland. 

“And do not forget, comrades,” Gleb said with a finality, “The only blood that must be spilled is Count Ipolitov. Anyone else caught illegally passing the Russian border must be detained and dealt with upon returning to Russia.” 

Ivan looked up sharply at this, to which Gleb added, “Unless there is rash resistance, of course. But we must be fair. There’s always a chance to make a good and loyal Russian out of a traitor, yet.” 

\--

 _“Paris, via Budapest, on track four!”_ A voice suddenly bellowed throughout the station, loud and booming and startling the many tired travelers who were preparing to escape Russia before the sun came up.

Vlad discreetly gestured, leading Dmitry and Anya through the crowd and toward the proper platform. Anya’s gaze was still on her tickets, so afraid that if she looked away they’d vanish or slip from her fingers. Dmitry pinched at her sleeve and pulled her along with them. Her steps were a little stumbled as she forced herself to look up and try to catch up with his long steps.

This was it. This was really happening. She was going to Paris. She was leaving her homeland, leaving all that she knew, and finally, finally going to Paris. 

She would _not_ cry, not _here_ , in the midst of the early morning hustle and bustle. She would _not_ cry on the train either, or in Paris, or ever again, if she could help it.

As they came to a stop on the right platform, Anya felt her scarf jostle away from her cheeks. With Dmitry and Vlad on either side of her, shielding her from any prying eyes, she did not rush to wind it back up. Instead, she found herself distracted by the people around her, the ones who were fleeing, just like they were. All around her were tired faces that bore hope for a better and brighter tomorrow, _today_. She could see the pain of leaving their homeland just as plainly as she felt it within her own self, but the hope was what outweighed the pain of everyone she looked at. 

Anya caught sight of a few officers milling about, and her heart skipped an anxious beat. A few of them clumped together in the corner of the station, but some were patrolling the perimeter of the station, eyeing the crowd carefully, analytically, just like those secretaries had on that early morning in Gleb’s office. Swallowing thickly, Anya reached up to pull her scarf back into place when…

An older man in fine clothes suddenly swept forward, dropping to one knee before her. Dmitry’s hand curled around her arm in a surprised, almost protective grasp as the stranger’s gloved hand found hers. Anya felt panic rise within her, like the walls were closing in, like she needed to _run_. But then the man was bringing her hand to his lips and pressing his cheek to her knuckles. Her startled panic began to fade from the his gentle touch, but she was still frozen in place when he lifted his face to smile hopefully up at her. 

“God bless you.” He said in an astonished whisper.

The man stared into her eyes deeply for a long moment, a quiet sort of relief crossing his tired, almost regal features. Anya couldn’t speak, could do nothing but stare down at him, mouth agape. She watched as he looked up at Dmitry and Vlad, giving them a short nod before looking back at her. She was scrambling to think of what she could possibly say, but did not get the chance to before he was pressing another kiss to her knuckles and sweeping away from her after a soft murmur of, “Long life, my lady.”

“I recognize that man.” Vlad whispered once they were alone again. “He's the Count Ipolitov. An aristocrat and an intellectual. Exactly the sort of person the Bolsheviks want gone.” 

Anya’s hand still hovered in midair, only half hearing what was being said. There was an odd rushing sound in her ears, and were it not for Dmitry's hand on her arm, she might have been a little unsteady. She could feel the weight of his gaze on her, confusion pouring off of him in waves. “But why would he…?” Dmitry trailed off before adding breathlessly, “He must think you’re…” His voice died out as he stared off in the direction the Count had gone. 

Drawing in a deep breath, Anya looked down at her shoes as she brought her scarf back up around her face. A few people standing by who had seen the moment bore confused expressions, a few pairs of eyes lingering over her before looking away. Anya caught the hushed whispers, but she fought the urge to glance over her shoulder to see if any of the officers had noticed, if they were on their way to apprehend her. She pressed her free hand to her chest as her heart pounded wildly against her ribcage. 

_He must think you’re really Anastasia._

Where there should have been relief, maybe even a little pride, Anya was struck with a sudden wave of terror and anxiety. She was simply _Anya_. She could not remember a life when her name had ever meant something, let alone strike as much hope like what she had seen in the Count’s eyes. If she truly was _Anastasia_ , could _Anya_ live up to that name?

All Anya truly wanted was a family, a place where she belonged, _Paris_. But…but _this_? The weight of her possible family suddenly seemed so heavy, far too heavy for a no one like _her_ to carry. 

Vlad seemed to sense her panic, because his familiar warmth was suddenly much closer, his long arm winding around her shoulders and gently tugging her to his side. Anya pressed her cheek against his chest, seeking the fatherly warmth and comfort that came from one of his hugs. He said nothing, just hummed under his breath and sheltered her for a moment. 

_“Train for Paris via Budapest on track four! All aboard!”_

“We had better go.” Vlad said in a haunted, sullen voice, and Anya instantly missed him when he let her go to step toward the train. He gave her a glance over his shoulder and she nodded at him, forcing herself to gain composure. 

Anya’s gaze found the Count amidst the bustling crowd as the trio stepped up to the train. She watched his proud figure move across the platform, her stomach churning with the possibility of just who he saw in her, and why he had risked himself to sweep forward and do what he had done. She wanted to chase after him and beg for answers, but the moment was gone, and she could do nothing but stare at him. He must have felt her eyes on him, because he looked back at her, then back at Russia, and she felt everything in his eyes as he looked about, soaking up his last moments there. 

“I’ll bless my homeland 'till I die.” He said, loud enough for her to hear over the bustle of the station. 

He spared her one last reverent look, and with a nod, disappeared onto the train car. Anya released a breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding, Dmitry’s own sigh falling in tandem with hers. 

“It’s all I’ve ever known.” Dmitry said in a quiet voice. She blinked up at him, watching his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed some unknown, thick emotion, his own dark gaze focused on where the Count had disappeared to. “All I’ve ever wanted was to get out of here, to break free. And now that we are…” 

“Russia has raised us, Dima. But we must say goodbye.” Anya said distantly before adding in a stronger voice. "All that we are now leaving behind...it _will_ be worth it." She wasn't sure if she was saying it for his benefit or for her own, but she found strength from the words nonetheless.

He looked down at her, his lips forming an almost painful grimace. But there was so much hope in his eyes, so much relief, and it terrified and encouraged her all in one fell swoop. Anya could not help but keep her eyes on him in the hopes that she too could absorb that same feeling. If she was going to find the answers she had yearned for over the past ten years, she needed to be stronger. She needed to face this head on, despite how terrifying it all was. The hope in his eyes was almost expectant, sort of how the Count had looked at her, like she might save them, somehow. 

_One step at a time,_ she reminded herself, _one hope then another._

Dmitry looked away from her, eyes directed back toward the empty space where the Count had been only moments ago.

“I’ll bless my homeland till I die.” Dmitry said reverently, taking up his suitcase and stepping toward the train. Vlad had already climbed on to find their place onboard, but Dmitry lingered on the steps to help her up. Anya lingered on the platform, one hand pressed to her necklace, the other gripping the papers and ticket that now promised her freedom. With a sigh, she pressed her fingers to her lips and quietly murmured to herself, “I’ll bless my homeland till I die.” 

“Hey.” Dmitry called out, and Anya looked up at him. She felt the sympathy in Dmitry’s eyes, the understanding she knew he felt about leaving Russia, but she also instantly caught the skittish impatience as he spared a quick glance about the station. With the travelers boarding, many taking Dmitry’s outstretched hand to climb aboard, the small crowd that had gathered was thinning out. She didn’t need to follow his gaze to know the officers standing about might take notice of her now, if they hadn't before.

“Shall we?” He asked as Anya stepped forward. She placed her hand into his, allowing him to pull her up onto the train. He gave her a lopsided smile, one she found herself returning beneath her scarf. 

The train rumbled and hissed, a billowing puff of steam filling the station. The last few travelers climbed aboard, pausing alongside Anya and Dmitry as they all took one last look at Russia. 

\--

The officers had saluted Gleb before he’d given them a final nod of dismissal. He watched as they slipped aboard the train before the other passengers, discreetly spreading themselves out across the cars. Just as planned. 

Ivan lingered beside Gleb, running over plans and the day’s schedule and the time to expect them to return. Gleb listened intently, noting how eager Ivan was to get going, especially after catching sight of Count Ipolitov crossing the platform and climbing onto the train. 

Yes, today would certainly be a victory. There would be nowhere for the Count to run now. Another call to board echoed throughout the station, and after a moment’s pause, Ivan and Gleb shared a salute. Gleb kept himself in the corner as Ivan boarded, watching with pride as his fellow comrade slipped into the crowd easily, vanishing amongst the other travelers. 

Gleb lingered, soaking up a few more moments of the warm station before he would have to go out into the early morning air to continue his walk to his office. He adjusted his cap, looking down to ensure his coat was still properly buttoned before he stepped outside. 

When his eyes lifted once more, he caught sight of the last few stragglers taking one last look at Russia before climbing aboard. A tall figure at the end of one of the traincars was helping the last few onboard, and while it should have filled Gleb with pride to see his fellow Russian helping others, the sight of it made his blood boil. 

_Dmitry Sudayev._

So. The boy really was stupid enough to think that he could escape Russia. Today truly was a victory indeed. Gleb smirked to himself, knowing full well Ivan and his officers would be dragging the conman back to Russia that very day. And if Dmitry was onboard, then there was no doubt Popov was as well. 

Before he could stop himself, Gleb crossed the station and headed for the platform. He had half a mind to reach up and drag the boy off the traincar then and there. He reasonably could. All it would take was a yank on the boy’s sleeve and he would topple off and back onto the platform at Gleb’s feet.

But it might do well for the boy and Popov to feel safe and believe they’d done it, that they’d be able to follow through with their scheme of illegally escaping Russia. It was enough for Gleb to have seen them. Now he would have good news for Anya that they would be apprehended before the day was over. And besides, it would be rather laughable for Gleb when they landed right back where they started, to have _failed_. It was all about timing. Justice would be served for those two, he would personally see to it. Not only for the sake of Russia, but for the sake of Anya. 

Gleb glared at the train, at Sudayev’s lingering form. The boy must have felt Gleb's gaze on him, because when he finally did see him, his face grew slack and pale, his dark eyes growing wide with fear. Gleb stood very still and held his gaze, ensuring that Dmitry _knew_ that he saw him. Confusion mingled with the fear on Dmitry’s face, almost as if he’d realized that Gleb was _not_ charging forward to drag him off the train, but was _allowing_ him to make a getaway.

If he only knew, Gleb thought as his lips twitched into a smirk.

So many times Gleb had allowed Dmitry Sudayev and Vladimir Popov to run free. But those days were over. After their deception of Anya, he would make sure they never felt such freedoms ever again. He would let this be a lesson for himself, to be ever more vigilant. No longer could he turn a blind eye and give out so many chances. 

Gleb fixed the boy with a dangerous smile, but it seemed Sudayev didn’t even notice, for he was turning away hastily. Briefly, Gleb figured he was running to hide onboard, but much to his surprise, the conman was bent over someone who was also standing nearby in the midst of other lingering travelers on the end of the traincar that Gleb had not noticed before. 

The figure seemed to be a boy in a large, illfitting brown coat and cap stood beside the conman. Gleb furrowed his brow and ran through his memory, trying to remember if Sudayev or Popov for that matter had any relatives or comrades that might try to escape with them in their haste. Especially since their false Anastasia now wanted nothing to do with them. But, both conmen had no one but each other. 

When the small figure turned fully, Gleb caught sight of a familiar purple scarf and blue eyes he knew better than anything else in the world. 

_Anya._

Much like that horrible night in Yekaterinburg, the world seemed to stop turning. 

“Anya.” His voice came out much quieter than he'd anticipated. "Anya." He murmured once more, swallowing her name thickly, eyes that burned with tears straining to see _someone else_ at the conman’s side. In his mind's eye, denial willed her to be someone else, for his tired mind to be playing tricks on him. But there was no denying it. Even with her hair wound up and her face concealed by the scarf, Gleb _saw her._

__

__

_"I will always see you, Anya."_ He'd said that to her the night before, a mere few hours prior to the horrible moment he was currently living. And what he was seeing now was indeed Anya. Running away from Russia, from him, and from the _truth._

“No.” He whispered, his heart feeling as if it was being crushed. Anya had _promised_ him. She had promised this was done and over. She had promised she believed him, that her plans of illegally leaving the country in chase of these rumors were dashed away. 

But clearly it all really _had_ been a dream. All those promises, those shared kisses on their bridge, were all just glimpses of a life only lived in dreams. She had been saying goodbye to him, had done all that she could to throw him off, to shift his focus so he would not suspect her any longer. He played right into her dainty little hands. He had chosen to believe her, and she'd known that he would, because of his feelings for her. 

His betrayal from the day before when Vadim had dragged her into his office was nothing in comparison to what he felt now. His vision blurred, his throat constricted, and he was absolutely positive his heart was not working correctly. He had shared the darkest part of his past with her, and she had still chosen to believe the lies of two conmen who cared only for a reward. Anya had believed strangers, the scum of Leningrad, over _him._

Gleb was angry, but he wasn't sure if his anger was directed solely towards Anya, or the conmen who had manipulated her to the point of _this._ He supposed he was hurt more than he was angry. The pain was so deep, he was certain he might be bleeding internally, something within him severed by the blow of seeing Anya there, slipping away with all her false promises and dangerous eyes.

He knew he should be chasing down the train, shouting her name, climbing aboard and pulling her off, demanding to know what the hell she was doing. But he could do nothing but stand there, frozen in place, his eyes fixated on the train, on _her_. He watched in horror as she tucked her hand into the elbow of the conman. He clearly had not alerted her of Gleb's presence, because those eyes of hers were still focused on the train station, and she had still not seen him standing there on the platform. 

Gleb panted for air, his vision blurring with tears as he remembered how she'd promised _him_ that she'd always see him too. Another lie, another betrayal! But Anya...his dear sweet Anya who he had spent an entire year loving. Anya who had taught him to smile again, how to love and hope again, after so many years alone. Anya, who had promised that time was all she needed, before she would be ready to take the next step _with_ him. Did she expect him to wait for her? To let her lie and betray him and run away to Paris fueled by the flames of a horrendous lie? What had she thought would happen next? That he'd just...let her go?

But that's what he was doing, wasn't it? He _wasn't_ dragging her off the train, and somewhere deep down, he hoped his officers might take no notice of her, just to spare himself the pain of having to look into her eyes again and hear more lies from her. His heart stuttered and a chill ran down his spine as a million different scenarios and memories ran through his mind, as their entire evening the night before played out like a horrible nightmare. Even still, he could not look away as Dmitry guided her inside the train. He could do _nothing_ as she faded from view.

 _How can you do this to me?_ He thought ruefully, his knees quaking as he watched the train slip away. _How can you desert **me?**_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohh uhh...hello guys. Long time no see. *nervous chuckle*
> 
> I'm so sorry for the delay in getting this chapter out! I definitely didn't mean to let so much time go between updates. The holidays were a little nutty, as was my life, haha, but I still didn't think I'd be so delayed. Truthfully I've kind of lost my mojo, and I'm anxious about this chapter. Hopefully I didn't lose my Glenya mojo!!! I've just been so distracted lately, and I fully blame Star Wars for taking all my attention lately. Or rather, Reylo, haha. My bad. We are getting into more plot related aspects of the story and truthfully, I've not had the energy to dig deep into it. I just want to write fluffy, angsty things for these two, but I promise I'm sticking with this story to the end, even if all the plot we gotta dig through drives me bonkers! 
> 
> I'd say the updates will go back to the normal, once a week schedule I had going on, but I can't promise anything. I hope that won't dissuade you from sticking with me! 
> 
> Also, I wrote a fluffy little modern day Dmitry/Anya/Gleb Christmas fic over the holidays, but I'm interested in dabbling in that world a bit more. If anyone would like to leave me prompts or situations you'd like to see those three in, please feel free to leave prompts! 
> 
> As always, comments and kudos are always appreciated, loved and coveted, lolz.


End file.
